


One and the Same Fall

by ElliottRook



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Author uses Gabriel as a punching bag, Beelzebub/Pollution, Catholic Guilt, Catholic School, Catholic-picked though lol, Dead Poets Society flavor in setting not plot, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel Gets Punched, Gay Panic, Hastur is here but he's a pretty decent guy actually, Hastur is the only chill adult in the whole thing really, He/Him pronouns for God, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Not Britpicked, Religious Discussion, They/Them Pronouns for Pollution (Good Omens), Underage Drinking, Ze/Zir Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), fat body appreciation, it's only mentioned it's not a plot element and it was thwarted anyway, just you know regular old 'real-world' God as a concept, note in the chapter that contains it, they're in the US after all it didn't seem as important, who is not the narrator nor the Good Omens character here in any way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 75,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottRook/pseuds/ElliottRook
Summary: Aziraphale Fell is a UK student attending an American Catholic school on exchange, an escape from a strict, conservative family.Anthony Crowley is a juvenile delinquent on his last chance, sent to live with his uncle and attend a school that promises to shape him up.When they cross paths at St. Bernadette's, they nearly instantly become friends, and nobody likes it--not the teachers, not the old-money students, not Aziraphale's family--but it's the best thing that's ever happened to either of them.Hanging over their heads, though, is Crowley's plan to flee the moment he comes of age, and what will happen after they're no longer trapped in the same gilded cage.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 374
Kudos: 223





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose the first thing to get out of the way is that I'm not Catholic, never have been, nor did I go to Catholic school. I was raised in a very strict religious family, though, and that was the inspiration for Aziraphale's family. For the setting, I had eowynsdeerstalker, who DID attend Catholic school, take a look and make sure I wasn't too far off.
> 
> Crowley, of course, does not believe, and mouths off a lot about religion, in general, and Aziraphale does a lot of questioning. While what I've depicted is as accurate as I can reasonably make it, Crowley's opinions are not the kindest towards religion--if you're particularly devout this may not be the fic for you. (Without spoiling the plot, Aziraphale questions a lot, and ultimately remains Christian, but not Catholic.)
> 
> The fic is finished and waiting, and new chapters will be posted Tuesday mornings!

  
  


* * *

From the time he'd mastered the skill of reading at the tender age of four, Aziraphale's personality could be summed up with one word: bookish. Not studious, necessarily—he was the kind to rush through his homework in order to get back to his stories. He managed well enough academically, but the pursuit was something he saw as a necessary evil that got in the way of his reading time. Nothing made him happier than getting lost in the pages of another world for a while, especially when everything wrapped up in a happily ever after with a neat bow on top.

Still, it was the September of the year he was seventeen before he truly understood what it meant for one's heart to skip a beat.

The new student who was brought in, interrupting Sister Uriel's chemistry class, was taller than her and Principal Metatron. He walked in with a saunter, like his hips weren't quite screwed into place tightly enough, and when he came to a stop his entire posture advertised that he didn't want to be there. His coppery hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Sister Uriel cleared her throat and made a motion towards her eyes, and the new student slipped off a pair of very stylish sunglasses to reveal eyes in a shade of golden that Aziraphale had never seen before.

Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat.

He couldn't look away from the chiseled jaw. He didn't hear what his teacher was saying, but he heard every syllable as the man introduced himself in a British accent that caught Aziraphale off guard. “Anthony J. Crowley.” He straightened up a little as he surveyed the classroom, and when he turned his head he revealed some sort of tattoo on his cheek. Aziraphale wanted a closer look, but of course he couldn't well get up from his seat.

“You can sit here on the front row,” Sister Uriel said. “I've been warned to keep an eye on you.”

Crowley reached the desk in a single bound and spun himself down into the chair. “Right. Of course.” He sounded annoyed, but not surprised.

Aziraphale subtly shifted his desk to the right, so he could get a better look, two rows behind.

“I trust you've got him from here,” the principal said, and left the room.

Sister Uriel came around the side of Crowley's seat, where the young man was taking a notebook and pen out of a sleek charcoal gray messenger bag. She frowned at what she had noticed a moment before—Crowley's auburn curls gathered in a neat bun at the back of his head. She grabbed the knot and tipped Crowley's head back, which he protested with a soft yelp.

“Didn't they give you the dress code when they issued your uniform?” she asked him, sharply.

Crowley winced, leaning back towards her hand to try and alleviate the pain of the tug. “Yeah!” he said. “Hair can't touch the collar— _what are you doing_?” he asked, gasping a little as she pulled on his hair.

She shook her head. “Hair must be _kept_ so it does not touch the collar,” she corrected, and dug her fingers in, fishing around for a moment, and then yanked out the elastic holding his hair in place.

Aziraphale gasped softly as Crowley's curls cascaded around his shoulders, like a waterfall of pennies.

“This is in violation of the dress code,” Sister Uriel snapped. “You need to look professional, like the man we're going to mold you into. Principal's office.”

“But I just got here—“

“Principal's office!” she insisted, and Crowley started packing his things back into his bag. “Honestly, you're on thin ice with the tattoo,” she pointed out.

“Can't exactly erase it,” Crowley muttered, earning himself a slap for the cheek of it, that drew a gasp from all the students in the room.

“Principal's office,” Sister Uriel said, lowly, and Crowley was silent as he got up and headed back where he'd just come from. “Well. Back to your work!” she snapped at the rest of the class, and there was a mass shuffling as everyone bent over their books again.

Aziraphale couldn't help but sneak a wistful look back at the door, hanging open, but Crowley was long gone.

He wasn't back until opening assembly the next morning. When he sauntered in, everyone turned to look, and Crowley didn't bat an eye as he sat in the pew, his hair cut like nearly everyone else's, short and professional on the sides, with a little length on top, but nothing like its former glory.

Aziraphale's heart nearly broke for him.


	2. Kindness

They didn’t share any morning classes, and chemistry was in the afternoon, so it wasn’t until lunch that Aziraphale actually got to speak to his crush. It was a good thing he hadn’t realized Crowley was his crush yet, or he would’ve been too nervous to approach him at all.

Crowley was leaning against the far wall, opposite the cafeteria line, tossing an apple up and catching it, repeatedly.

“The line’s thinned out a bit, if you’d like to come with me,” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley looked surprised as soon as Aziraphale spoke. “You’re British, too?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes. Exchange program,” he said. “I’m from Soho.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. _Obviously_.” He polished an invisible spot on his apple with his sleeve. “Well, that’s all good and well, but I won’t be getting in line.”

Aziraphale nodded. “First day nerves got your appetite?”

“Can’t afford it,” Crowley said. “Parents can barely afford to send me here at all. Lunch plan was out of the question.” He held up the apple. “I’ll be fine.” Aziraphale looked horrified, not understanding how they could send their son to school without a way to get a healthy lunch, but Crowley misunderstood. “Listen, Exchange, not everyone’s folks have money dripping out their ears. Sorry I’m poor. I’m just counting down the days until my birthday and then you won’t have to see me again.” He stood up straight in a fluid motion, moving away from the wall knees first. He was halfway to the door, biting into the apple, before Aziraphale could even begin to know what to say.

* * *

The next day at lunch, Aziraphale didn’t get in line, either. He found Crowley at a table by himself and sat across from him. “I brought enough to share,” he announced.

Crowley stared at him, or at least Aziraphale thought he was staring, from behind the dark glasses. He wasn’t allowed to wear them in class but he never let them get far, and as soon as he was in a public space again, he hid his eyes.

Aziraphale blushed under the scrutiny. “Well—you said you didn’t have money for lunch, and I just thought...”

Crowley nodded. “Thought you’d make me your charity case?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “Thought I’d try to be friendly.” He unzipped his lunch bag and started unpacking sandwiches and a tartan Thermos. “It’s tea,” he said, holding it out. “Nobody else around here drinks it.”

Crowley watched him with shrewd eyes. “No one else gives a flying fuck,” he said. “No one wants to talk to me. Not sure if it’s the money or the grades or the tattoo or...what. But this place is full of insufferable snobs, students and teachers alike. It’s just like the movies. I actually, literally got my hand rapped with a ruler in class this morning.” He held up his left hand, red marks along his knuckles, and leaned forward. “So what the fuck is _your_ game?”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat again, this time from nervousness. “Just...no game,” he said. “Everyone ought to have a friend.”

“And...you’re going to be mine...why?” Crowley asked. “Because we’re British?”

Aziraphale gave him a tentative smile. “Good a reason as any. I have a cousin back home who sends me the snacks they don’t have here.”

Crowley let out a laugh. “Fine, fine. All right. What’s your name, Exchange?”

“Aziraphale Fell,” he said.

Crowley blinked. “They actually call you all of that? Say it again? Wait, no. You gotta write that down for me.” He pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen, then turned it around and slid it across the table to Aziraphale. He’d opened the contacts app for Aziraphale to add himself.

Aziraphale did so without realizing what a smooth move it was. “They mostly call me Fell here at school, pretty much everyone uses last names...kind of tradition,” he said.

Crowley nodded. “I prefer that, anyway. But like—your family...?”

“Aziraphale,” he repeated. “The whole thing.” He didn’t add that his brothers usually put the emphasis on the last two syllables.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, reading it off his phone screen. “Huh.”

“My family is religious and has a tendency to repeat names,” Aziraphale said, shrugging. “It was my great-grandfather’s name, and his father, and _his_ uncle...”

Crowley nodded. “Religious?”

“It was originally the name of an angel,” Aziraphale explained.

“Mmm. I don’t really go in for all of that...” Crowley said, hesitantly. “Religion. Angels.”

Aziraphale blinked. “It’s Catholic school...”

Crowley nodded. “It’s private school,” he said. “They took our money. Didn’t really ask if I actually bought into it.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to respond. If he’d ever encountered a nonbeliever, they’d never identified themselves to him as such.

“That a problem? Want your lunch back?” Crowley asked, drily. He suspected it wasn’t going to make him popular.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said. It only made the redhead more fascinating to him, though he couldn’t admit that. It was dangerously close to a sin. Probably. Aziraphale felt like he was not nearly so clear on the rules as everyone else in his family seemed to be, or the teachers, or the priests, or anyone else around him. At the end of the day, though, Christ had said the greatest commandment was to love, and that seemed simple enough to get by. “I suppose you’re hardly the first person seeking a superior education that didn’t follow the religion.”

Crowley snorted. “I’m not even doing that. This isn’t about my education. This is a prison sentence.” At Aziraphale’s look of shock, he rolled his eyes. “I got expelled from two schools back home. My parents shipped me across the pond to stay with my uncle, and this is my last chance.”

“For school?” Aziraphale asked, stricken.

“To not get disowned and cut off,” Crowley said, cheerfully. “But honestly, my getting cut off would probably make every party involved happier. It’s just hard to support yourself when you’re not of age. So I’m here, just trying to skate by until I’m eighteen and can go back to London and strike out on my own.”

Aziraphale was having vivid flashbacks to the first time he’d ridden his bicycle without training wheels. Nothing had quite prepared him to come face-to-face with this attitude. He knew there were people that weren’t religious, that didn’t value education, that were black sheep in their families. He just never expected “that sort” of person to come in such an appealing package.

Not that Crowley was appealing to _him_. Of course not. Just generally appealing.

Crowley seemed to sense that Aziraphale was having trouble processing it all. “Sorry, did I just wreck the image you had of me? I do that a lot. Fuck, you should see me in a skirt.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, but it was easier to picture when he thought of the shoulder-length curls they’d made him cut. “Oh...”

Crowley laughed. “Bit off more than you can chew, hmm?”

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Aziraphale finally said. “I’ll get used to it.”

“You won’t,” Crowley told him.

* * *

The thing of it was, despite a personal resolution not to make any friends at St. Bernadette’s, Crowley _liked_ him.

Or at least, it amused him to watch the choir boy blush as Crowley resolutely refused to censor himself for the other. He had to tamp himself down for the teachers and priests because he simply could not get kicked out of a third school, but Aziraphale didn’t scold him (much) and wouldn’t tattle, he just got flustered, and Crowley found it _precious_. Clearly he’d been sheltered. Crowley couldn’t relate.

His birthday was in April. Seven months and he could wash his hands of everything. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone to keep him company until then.

* * *

Sister Michael pulled Aziraphale aside one day on his way out of her Literature class. “I’ve seen you at lunch with the new boy.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well, yes...no one else seemed to be reaching out. I thought it would be charitable to...share. Be a friend.”

“That’s a noble instinct, dear, but—well, it might be more in your interest to avoid him,” she said. At his look of shock she shook her head. “He’s...troubled.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I know—“

She cut him off. “I don’t think you fully understand. Crowley, he...he’s a bit of a lost cause. We’re hoping he’ll be able to pull it together and graduate, but largely we’re just babysitting him and keeping him away from criminal activity. His family was in a bind. If he does get into...mischief...it’s a rather bad look on you to be too closely associated with him.”

Aziraphale frowned throughout the lecture, and started sputtering his answer. “But—isn’t—doesn’t he still deserve kindness?”

“There’s a difference in kindness and friendliness, Fell.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not when what someone needs most is a friend.”

“It’s very sweet that you think so, but you also need to think of your academic standing,” she reminded him. “Or worst case, think about the possibility of developing your own criminal record.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I won’t do that,” he said. “But even Christ himself spent time with criminals, in order to save them.”

“You can’t be a missionary friend,” Sister Michael insisted.

Aziraphale didn’t think Crowley needed his saving, but he couldn’t say that. “I’ll be careful,” was what he finally did say, and she nodded at him with a sigh, dismissing him.

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t careful. There was nothing to be careful about, that he could think of. There was no harm in sharing lunches with someone and talking to them, and it had become a habit almost instantly. Aziraphale brought enough for two, and Crowley always came around.

“I wish I was bringing better food, but it’s hard on a hot plate,” Aziraphale said, one day as they were eating soup and sandwiches he’d cut delicately into triangle quarters.

Crowley stared at him. “You realize this is gourmet compared to what I get at home, right?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I _miss_ cooking gourmet.” Crowley froze with the corner of a sandwich in his mouth until Aziraphale blushed. “What?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s a hobby. If you cook well, you get to eat well.”

“But you have to use a hot plate?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “They don’t give us access to the kitchen—“

“Oh!” Crowley smacked his forehead. “You’re in the dorms. You didn’t say that but, right, exchange. Makes sense.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yeah.”

“How is that? Are they single rooms—“

“No, unfortunately,” Aziraphale blurted, then covered his mouth.

Crowley barked out a laugh. “So it’s not good?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s two to a room and my roommate is...” He wavered a hand.

“Bad?” Crowley asked.

“ _Perfect_ ,” Aziraphale said, with a frustrated sigh, and Crowley felt his heart sink until he continued. “I feel like such a failure next to him. He’s the boss of the lacrosse team and he’s on the debate team and he’s been on the honor roll every semester and his family donates so much to charity and he leads a Bible study! I don’t know how he finds time—“

“Swore off sex, probably,” Crowley said, cheerfully. “Who’s the smug bastard?”

“I’ve never done that either,” Aziraphale protested. “I still don’t have time for all that!”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, but have you sworn it off, or just not had a chance? Schools like this are full of _professional_ virgins. Some get married and make babies, sure, but until then...” He shook his head. “Gotta put that energy somewhere. Hard to have a wank with a roommate around, too. Hence sports.”

Aziraphale didn’t dignify the wank comment with a response, though it was definitely correct. “His name’s Gabriel,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Crowley winced. “Oh, fuck. You poor bastard. He’s in my algebra class and he’s even good at _that_. He’s the _worst_.”

Aziraphale nodded. “You understand why I stay in the library so much, unless he’s at some practice or meeting...”

“Captain,” Crowley said, suddenly. “Lacrosse. It’s captain of the team.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Sports are useless.”

“Especially at a school with no cheerleaders,” Crowley joked.

“Right. Yeah,” Aziraphale said, dismissively.

At that moment Crowley considered his suspicions confirmed, but didn’t say anything. “Well, I know you’d live in the library if you could, but if you wanted somewhere else to go, you could come hang out with me,” he offered. “I’d drive you.”

Aziraphale paused. “You have a car?” he asked, surprised.

Crowley nodded. “ _My_ car’s back in Mayfair, waiting. But I’ve got a loaner here, my uncle’s old car.”

Aziraphale’s mind was already mulling over the possibilities of not having to count on the bus, if Crowley could haul him around. Groceries would be easier for one, you could only carry so much on the bus, you had to be considerate of the other riders. And if Crowley needed someone to cook good meals for him, well, that would at least partly pay him back.

“You wouldn’t mind having me over?” he finally asked.

“Do I strike you in any way as the kind of person who offers things at random if they don’t like doing them?” Crowley asked. “If I didn’t want to have you over, I would never invite you. Simple as that.”

Aziraphale nodded. “That’s fair...do you want me to come over and make dinner, then? I could make enough that we could have the leftovers tomorrow, too.”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah, all right,” he agreed. “Not sure what we have at the house...”

“Maybe we should go to the store?” Aziraphale suggested, hesitantly.

“Sounds awfully domestic,” Crowley told him, though he didn’t sound annoyed.

“I miss domestic. The dorms are kind of awful,” Aziraphale said. “Or maybe Gabriel is just making it awful.”

“The latter,” Crowley said, matter-of-factly.


	3. Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes home with Crowley, and they get to know each other better. Crowley has plans, Aziraphale has hangups. Enter Hastur.

Crowley was not a bad driver, per se. He just took the curves a little fast for Aziraphale’s taste, making him grab at the handle over the window. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses and said nothing.

At the store, Aziraphale decided on pasta, and getting the ingredients was a fairly simple matter. Crowley just followed after him like a lost kitten, having no idea where anything was, whereas Aziraphale, used to having to get his shopping done between two buses, had the process down to a highly efficient science. Crowley was honestly a little bit impressed.

Aziraphale shrugged. “You do what you have to. It’s this or have nothing to eat but cafeteria food...when it’s open.”

Crowley was used to not having more around than that, but he didn’t say anything.

The house he pulled up to was in a run-down neighborhood—the houses weren’t new, but there were still kids running around in a lot of the yards. It was old, but still good—safe. He carried the groceries in for Aziraphale and led the way to the kitchen to put them away.

“Do you wanna see the house?” he offered.

“Sure,” Aziraphale agreed, curious to get a look at how Crowley, mysterious and unlike anyone he’d ever known, lived.

The house was tidy just by way of being small to begin with, there wasn’t room to put anything unnecessary. Crowley showed Aziraphale the downstairs, and led the way up where there were three bedrooms. “That’s Uncle Hastur’s room,” Crowley said, pointing out the door. “And the spare, mostly it just has boxes in it, you know. Here’s mine.” He opened the door and went in.

Aziraphale followed and was surprised to find the room neat as a pin. He’d expected it to be cluttered, but then again it wasn’t Crowley’s full-time home, he was living abroad just like Aziraphale. Still, the bed was made perfectly, and everything else was laid out neatly. There was a desk and chair, and the bed of course, and a dresser. “It’s not much but it’s home,” Crowley said. “Until my birthday.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “You know, if your birthday’s in April, and graduation is in May...why not just finish out the school year?”

Crowley turned the desk chair around, indicating for Aziraphale to sit, which Aziraphale did, and flopped onto his bed. “I miss London. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home, work a while and save up, grow my hair back out, maybe do uni in a year or two...”

Aziraphale nodded a little. It wasn’t as if having an American high school diploma was going to help Crowley get into a British university, after all. “Not right away?”

Crowley shook his head. “Being away from my family is more important to me than any of that.”

“That’s sad,” Aziraphale said, lips curving downward.

“Yeah. It’s terribly sad that they’re such rotten people that their son doesn’t have a bit of affection for them,” Crowley agreed. “Must be really sad to be such tossers.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I wish I could help,” he said.

Crowley turned his head to look at Aziraphale, an eyebrow quirked up. “You are, you’re making dinner.” He pursed his lips. “Honestly it probably wouldn’t hurt for me to learn some of that, if I’m going to be on my own soon. Don’t want to only be able to have ramen.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I can teach you,” he agreed. “I suppose you probably don’t want to learn gourmet, but I can teach you some simple things, a few good meals.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah, see, that would be more helpful than anything I’m studying at school.”

“Good thing I got pasta for tonight, that’s a very simple start,” Aziraphale said. “And it’s cheap and filling.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. When do we need to start it?”

“About half an hour before you want to eat,” Aziraphale said. “I assumed we’d work on homework until then.”

Crowley groaned. “You really are a rule-follower, aren’t you? I was sort of hoping that was just at school.”

“Well, what did you have in mind?” Aziraphale asked. “I can do it later if you have some better suggestion.”

Crowley didn’t, exactly. A wild fantasy, maybe, of pulling Aziraphale onto the bed with him and at least mussing his perfect curls a little, but he wasn’t going to _suggest_ that to his perfect choir boy, especially not with real dinners on the line.

It only worried him a little that the word _his_ had crossed his mind in connection to Aziraphale. He had bigger things to think about.

“I mean, anything’s better than homework,” Crowley said. “I don’t know, tell me more about yourself. How the hell’d you end up here? Why’d they ship you off?”

The truth was, Aziraphale was nearly as happy to be away from his family as Crowley was from his. They weren’t the kindest, though it was all wrapped up in “concern.” They never worried, they were just _concerned_ for his immortal soul, despite the fact that Aziraphale tried his very hardest to be devout. (That was the problem, he had to _try_ where it seemed to come naturally to them.) He still went to Mass and said his prayers and followed all the rules—befriending Crowley was _not_ against the rules, no matter what Sister Michael or anyone else thought. Still, he was glad his family wasn’t there to see what he was doing. It would be much harder to justify his extensions of friendship under their close scrutiny. He was well aware they’d never approve.

He didn’t admit to any of that. What he said was, “They didn’t ship me off. I wanted to study abroad. I don’t know any other languages—tried my hand at French and it’s the only class I ever failed...and I failed abjectly.”

Crowley smiled. “You’re extra good at English at the cost of not having the skill for a second language.”

Aziraphale perked up a little at the thought. “Maybe that’s exactly it!”

Crowley chuckled. “So it was America, Canada, or Australia, pretty much.”

“My school only has the exchange program here, and in countries that speak French,” Aziraphale said. “So yes. America it is.”

Crowley very nearly had a sentimental thought about the odds of their paths crossing, but he didn’t share it. “What are you going to do when you go back?”

“Going straight into university,” Aziraphale said. ”I’m going to study literature and then I’m going to teach it.”

Crowley nodded. “You teaching literature might be the easiest thing I’ve ever imagined.”

Aziraphale beamed, taking it as a compliment, though Crowley wouldn’t have been able to say if he meant it as one or not. “I can’t imagine doing much else. I have to work with books somehow.”

Crowley smiled a little. “Yeah. Of course you do. You gotta do what you actually give a fuck about.”

Aziraphale blushed at the swear, but didn’t point it out. “I always thought that,” he agreed, softly.

“...but somebody told you different?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck. “My family thinks I’m going into the priesthood.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Bugger all that, that’s basically having your whole life taken away from you!” he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Yes, well, they’ll figure it out after I’m safely moved into the dorms next year,” Aziraphale said. “And not a moment before. They see this year abroad as a...last fling, I suppose.”

“It’s _Catholic school_ ,” Crowley pointed out. “That’s nobody’s fling. Didn’t anyone in your family ever listen to Only the Good Die Young?”

Aziraphale met him with a blank stare.

“‘Rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints’? Billy Joel? No?” Crowley sighed. “Your musical education is sorely lacking.” He sat up and pulled his laptop onto his lap from the desk. “Okay. Here. We’re listening to things.” He put on the song in question.

Aziraphale merely nodded, taking it in. “Well...it’s upbeat,” he finally said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Billy Joel. Classic song. And that’s all you have to say? Upbeat?” He rolled his eyes a little. “Do you _like_ it?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I suppose it’s pleasant enough, but he’s trying to tempt her...”

“Is that so bad? Tempting someone to do what’s normal and healthy?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale started to protest, then halted, considered, and finally shook his head. “We’re supposed to be in the world, not of it,” he said, something he’d been told by his family. “It means...you know, we exist in this world, on this planet, in society...but we’re supposed to be different. Set apart. So—what’s normal and healthy to most people...” He wavered a hand, shaking his head.

“‘We’ who?” Crowley asked.

“Catholics. Christians. Anyone who follows Christ,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley snorted out a laugh. “Holier than thou, is what you mean.”

Aziraphale blushed. “I do not! I only mean that...that I’m not supposed to...engage...”

“Pish posh, are you going to tell me every book you read is completely sanitized and good?” Crowley asked. “There’s no swearing or sex or anything? No morally dubious characters?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks got even darker. “Well...”

Crowley grinned. “See. Might as well enjoy the music, then. No harm in it. You’re living proof that hearing swears doesn’t fucking make you swear.”

“That’s still not the point,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You won’t, what am I going to do, hop across the pond and tattle? No. What good does it do me for you to be in trouble?” Crowley pointed out. “Just...let me help you with those wild oats. And I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Crowley wondered vaguely just how wild Aziraphale might want to get, but dwelling on the thought would only cause him problems that he didn’t want to deal with just then. Maybe that night.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “This is why Sister Michael told me you’re a bad influence.”

“And yet you still came over,” Crowley said. “I’m normal, Fell. I’m just bad by Catholic school standards, which are, frankly, ridiculous and impossible.” He gave Aziraphale a moment to think it over. “And besides...can‘t help but notice that maybe you tried to make friends with me because nobody seems to have tried with you,” he added, gently.

Aziraphale sighed. “They all like... _Gabriel_ and the likes of him. _Teachers_ like me.”

Crowley chuckled. “That’s true. They do, Mr. four-point-oh.”

“Three-point-seven-five,” Aziraphale corrected. “Though I’m trying to make it up with extra credit.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not actually perfect...” He grinned. “Makes me like you more.”

Aziraphale lit up at that. “You like me?”

Crowley nearly laughed, but he realized in time that Aziraphale was serious and actually needed to hear it. “Yeah. Remember that thing I said about not offering things I don’t want to do?”

Aziraphale nodded. “So it worked? We’re friends?”

Crowley smiled. “Yes, Fell. You’re not a wanker like everyone else at our godforsaken school so I have elected to be your friend. Comes with complementary defending you to the death, should the need arise,” he joked.

“I would hope not,” Aziraphale said, smiling at the joke.

“Me too, I’m not that good in a fight. Anyway, you come hang out with me, I’ll play music, you teach me to cook, and maybe, maybe we’ll do homework together,” Crowley offered. “Oh, and movies, I’m going to put together a list of R-rated movies you ought to see.”

“But I’ve never—“

“Exactly!” Crowley agreed. “Do you scare easy? Have you _ever_ watched a horror movie?”

“No!” Aziraphale said. “Though I do like to read a spooky story in October...but that’s not the same as _watching_ blood and gore...”

Crowley nodded. “Mmm. Yeah. But not all horror movies are gory. We’ll try a few different types.” Maybe Aziraphale would hide his face against Crowley, too, and wouldn’t that be precious?

“Different—“ Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t—“

“If you can’t handle it, we’ll shut it off and put on a cartoon,” Crowley said. “But you should at least _try_. Expand your horizons and all.”

Aziraphale considered, and then nodded. “Oh—all right,” he relented. It wasn’t the same as going and renting them himself. He couldn’t get in trouble for it, probably. And it would make Crowley happy, apparently.

It did. Crowley grinned. “Wonderful. I’ll make a list tonight.”

* * *

With their friendship thusly cemented, the pair eventually went downstairs to work on dinner. Aziraphale cooked spaghetti noodles and a basic marinara meat sauce that was fairly foolproof, and gave Crowley extra tips on how not to mess it up. “We’ll make it again soon, but I’ll let you take charge,” Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley nodded. “Smart. Smells good,” he said, eyeing the sauce in the pot.

Hastur came downstairs when the aroma wafted through the house. “Who’s this?”

Aziraphale was startled, a bit, by the contrast between the older man’s shock of blond hair and the darkness of his eyes. They made him think of an animal, and it was strange, also, compared to the very nearly yellow color of Crowley’s eyes.

“This is Fell, he’s from school,” Crowley said. “He’s gonna teach me to cook.”

Hastur seemed surprised, but also, he didn’t really care. So long as Crowley didn’t disrupt his routine, he didn’t pay much attention to what Crowley did, and if Crowley having a friend around meant a hot meal, all the better. “That’s...good...?” he said.

Aziraphale smiled. “Happy to help a friend.”

Crowley grinned at him. “This is Uncle Hastur, obviously,” he added.

Aziraphale nodded. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Hastur nodded by way of acknowledgement, and then went into the living room, not wanting to get in their way, or socialize.

“Chatty, that one,” Crowley said, sarcastically. “But he’s not so bad.”

Aziraphale nodded. “He didn’t seem to care. That I’m here, or anything...”

“He doesn’t,” Crowley said. “It’s not like we’re best buddies or anything. Guess he owed Mum a favor or something. Could be worse, I’d rather him not care than be tracking my every move.”

“That’s not surprising,” Aziraphale said. “Where do you keep the plates?”

Crowley showed him and helped him dish up their dinner. He took a plate to Hastur to eat in front of the TV, but sat at the dining table with Aziraphale. “He’s watching sports,” he told Aziraphale, who nodded and sat at the table with him, not interested in that sort of thing either.

Crowley took a curious bite, and then a second, much more eager bite. “It’s good!”

“Are you surprised, after all the lunches?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, just—excited,” Crowley said. “You really think it would be this good if I made it?”

“No reason it couldn’t be,” Aziraphale said, grinning. “We’ll find out soon.”

Crowley groaned. “Right. I have to improve myself,” he said.

Aziraphale chuckled. “It’ll be much nicer than living on ramen noodles,” he pointed out. “Cook enough to have leftovers and it’ll be quite easy, too.”

“Guess so. God, I can’t wait to have my own flat,” Crowley said. “Just a place to do whatever the fuck I want. Make the rules myself. Keep a bunch of plants.”

“Plants?”

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized, I mean ferns, not marijuana,” Crowley said. “Maybe some succulents. Or a _flower_ if I’m feeling _really_ crazy.”

“I didn’t know you had an interest in botany,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. “Something to take care of, but most places likely won’t let me have a pet,” he pointed out.

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s something,” Crowley said. “Stave off the loneliness a little, maybe.”

“Won’t you be able to have friends over?” Aziraphale asked.

“You’re assuming I have friends back in London,” Crowley said. “Bit of a stretch.”

“You have me, here,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Yeah. And you’re odd and persistent, Fell,” Crowley said, with no malice.

Aziraphale pouted a little. “Well...anyway...you might make friends.”

“You’re proving my point.”

Aziraphale smiled a little. “I’ll be going back to London after school is out... _I_ could visit you.”

Crowley comically froze with a bite of spaghetti halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t considered their friendship to be something that might actually last after his birthday. “You what?”

“Could visit,” Aziraphale said. “If you wanted. If you’d invite me.” His cheeks had the faintest of pink tints.

Crowley didn’t extend the invitation right away, but he did picture it. Him in some dingy little studio flat, scrounging up tea for Aziraphale. Sitting on a secondhand sofa, watching movies on his laptop, with an arm curled around Aziraphale. Abandoning the movie in favor of moving to the bed, which was tiny, but big enough for two if they held on to each other...

He cleared his throat. “Could,” he agreed, quietly.

Aziraphale smiled. “Keep going with the cooking lessons, back where all the good shops are.” He found American grocery stores a bit lacking in the finer things.

Crowley laughed. “Keep showing me the gourmet side of life?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

After dinner and cleanup, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do. The dorms had a nine o’clock curfew during the week, and he did still have his homework.

“You want to watch a movie?” Crowley offered. “In my room, not with Uncle Hastur. If we start now there should be just enough time to get you home,” he said.

“Only because of the way you drive,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned. “Exactly!” He didn’t hear the insult in it at all, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite bring himself to emphasize it. If he stayed, it was that much less Gabriel to cope with.

“All right. But check the runtime on the movie before we start it,” Aziraphale said.

They settled in Crowley’s room, on his bed with their backs to the headboard, laptop on Crowley’s legs. Crowley considered for a moment and chose 10 Things I Hate About You—he figured Aziraphale, being a literature nerd, would like it. “So this is a modern movie, right, but it’s based on ‘The Taming of the Shrew,’” Crowley said. “A retelling, in modern high school.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Really? Fascinating.”

They were both right. Aziraphale was fascinated, following the twists and turns and how they paralleled the play. He blushed as things almost got heated a few times, but said nothing, glad there weren’t any actual sex scenes in it.

“Did you like it?” Crowley asked, as the credits rolled.

“...yes,” Aziraphale finally decided, hesitantly.

“But?” Crowley asked. “It wasn’t too raunchy, it’s only PG-13.”

“No, I suppose not...it’s just something I’d likely get in trouble for,” Aziraphale said.

“Right. And that’s why we’re doing it here. I wouldn’t even know how to reach your family if I _did_ want to tattle, which I don’t. Relax, Fell,” Crowley assured him.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and smiled. “Right. Okay. I liked it,” he admitted.

Crowley hopped up and grabbed his keys. “Good! Now let’s get you back on time, goody-two-shoes.”


	4. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get a day to really be themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains probably the biggest conversation about Crowley being nonbinary. His nonbinary experience in this fic is based heavily on my own, but of course isn't reflective of every nonbinary person, and he says as much. Aziraphale's a tad clumsy trying to wrap his head around the concept, and gets a few wrong ideas, but he'll get it sorted out by the end and he's not at any point aggressive or awful about it, just learning. All of which is to say, if you saw the "homophobia" and "mild violence" tags, I don't want you to get nervous here about Aziraphale's questions. The bad stuff will be coming from antagonist characters. Aziraphale working past his own internalized homophobia is part of the narrative, but he never takes it out on Crowley. They're safe with each other.
> 
> Crowley is pronoun indifferent, and the narration will continue to use he/him pronouns throughout, as he's largely in stealth mode for the length of the story. There are other nonbinary characters appearing much later who use other pronouns and the narration reflects as such.

Aziraphale was back in his room with a good fifteen minutes to spare. [Told you], Crowley texted, which seemed like a very on-brand first text for him.

It quickly became the routine for them, what with their mutual lack of extracurriculars. School, lunch, grocery store, Crowley’s house, dinner and a movie. Crowley tried to ease Aziraphale into the scarier things, starting with Cabin in the Woods and The Ring, more moody than gory.

On Friday evening, Crowley rolled his car up to the dorm building and looked over at Aziraphale. “So what about tomorrow?”

Aziraphale looked over at him. “Tomorrow?”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah, _friend_ , do you have big plans tomorrow, or are you just going to sit in your room and watch Gabriel coming and going from his Bible study and his sports and his debate team?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I don’t _want_ to.”

“We could hang out,” Crowley said. “You could come over. Or hell, we could go _out_. Run around the mall. Maybe go bowling. Get _real_ crazy.”

“I thought you’d have some party to be at,” Aziraphale said. “Something cool to do.”

Crowley snorted. “Have to have friends to go to parties,” he said. “That said, we might _make_ friends if we go to the mall or a park or something. Get _invited_ to a party.”

“And you’d take me with?” Aziraphale asked. “If there was a party?”

Crowley laughed. “If you wanted to go. I certainly couldn’t let you go alone. You need someone to show you the ropes.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I would, actually.”

“If I get invited to any parties, I’ll make sure you’re my plus one. So what time should I pick you up tomorrow?” Crowley asked. “Not early.”

Aziraphale smiled. He could do his homework in the morning, then. “For lunch?” he suggested. “Noon? One?”

“Better make it one,” Crowley said. “All right. Text me if Gabriel gets insufferable, I guess.” Aziraphale started pulling his phone out of his pocket right then, getting a laugh out of Crowley. “Brilliant. I’ll see you tomorrow, Fell.”

Aziraphale grinned and headed inside. Thankfully, Gabriel was doing some studying of his own and barely said hello when Aziraphale came in, so he got ready for bed and settled in with a book to read until he was tired. The next morning, Gabriel was already gone when his alarm went off, and Aziraphale peacefully snoozed it a few times before getting up, getting ready, and getting breakfast. He finished his assignments long before Crowley was due to pick him up, so he had even more time to read—and he was lost in a book when there was a rap at the door.

“Coming!” Aziraphale hopped up to answer, and he nearly didn’t recognize the person who was waiting.

It was Crowley, but it was Crowley completely out of uniform. Even when they were hanging out he usually just shed the jacket and tie. Today, though, he couldn’t be further from the uniform. 

He’d tied a black kerchief up in his hair, fifties pinup style, giving the illusion that his hair might actually still be long and just in an updo. His shirt was very fitted, with a slit neckline showing some of his bare chest, and there was shirring at the wrists, calling attention to their delicacy in a way the stiff cuffed sleeves of a button-down never could. Below that was a gray-and-black plaid skirt, black tights, and combat boots. Aziraphale had been aware that Crowley was slim, but now Crowley was showing off every angular line of his body. His nails were lacquered black, making Aziraphale notice for the first time how long they were. And to top it all off, Crowley’s mouth was painted with a surprisingly bright shade of berry.

Crowley was fully aware of the shock this all was, and stood, smirking, waiting for the reaction. Aziraphale took long enough to collect his thoughts that Crowley pulled the lipstick out of his pocket for an impromptu touchup.

“You—what are you wearing?” Aziraphale asked, even though he’d looked every item over, twice by then.

“Told you, first day, you ought to see me in a skirt,” Crowley said, dryly. “So now you’re seeing it.”

Aziraphale nodded, not quite able to close his mouth. “But...why?”

Crowley slipped by him and sat on Aziraphale’s bed. “Because I look _good_ ,” he said. “Clothing is just fabric. It’s not...shouldn’t have rules.”

“And the lipstick?”

Crowley shrugged. “It looks good. I want to. I know they want to, like, mold me into manly masculine business guy man here, but...that’s not me. I’m more...art school, gap year, crashing in hostels...maybe a bit of a drag performer someday, when I get back to London.” He cleared his throat. “I like some masculine things, and some feminine things, and honestly, I just really resent being put in a box. Any box, for any reason.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “So...it’s just an outfit...?”

“All outfits are just an outfit,” Crowley said, patiently, as Aziraphale came and sat next to him. “Just because school would approve more of your jumper and khakis and... _this_ ,” he said, tapping Aziraphale’s bow tie, “Doesn’t mean it’s any more or less _just_ an outfit.”

“I mean...”

“What are you _really_ trying to ask, Fell?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I don’t want to sound...offensive.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay. You’re not going to learn if you don’t ask, I’m going to assume if you ask something a little clumsy that you’re not _trying_ to be a dick, right? Just want to understand?”

“I—yeah,” Aziraphale agreed. “You’re my friend, and—and I don’t want to—“

“Be a dick.”

“Er. Right.”

Crowley chuckled. “Well, tread carefully, but I’ll cut you some slack.”

Aziraphale nodded, pondering where to start. “Do you want to be a girl, then?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. That’s transgender. I’m more...trying to be in the middle, or just, divorced from the concept of gender entirely. I don’t care about what’s ‘for’ men or ‘for’ women, I just want to do as I please.”

“So...you...” Aziraphale scrubbed a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have a gender...”

Crowley wavered a hand. “Not everyone who identifies this way would say they ‘don’t have’ a gender, but: nonbinary,” he said. “It means—“

“More than two things,” Aziraphale said. “Binary is zeroes and ones. Like computer coding.”

Crowley smiled. “Right. If men are no and women are yes, I’m more like maybe, or kind of, or sort of.”

The lightbulb clearly clicked on for Aziraphale. “Okay!” He thought for a moment. “But you’re in a boys’ school.”

“Right, and where’s the nonbinary school?” Crowley asked.

“Oh.”

“It’s not all bad,” Crowley said. “If we’re sorting by body parts, you know, I’m in the right place. Sucks for the intersex people who are born with somewhat ambiguous parts, but here we are. They’re _just_ one percent of society.” He rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t know that ever happened,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. It does. A lot of them get corrective surgery against their will shortly after birth. And then it’s—cosmetic, doesn’t actually—it’s a bad business,” he said. “Adults now are protesting for the babies being born, leave surgery up to them.”

“I’m going to look this up later,” Aziraphale said.

“Excellent, do your research,” Crowley encouraged. “Any more questions for me?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Mmm...there’s...oh, it’s rude, though.”

“Still on your free pass. Spit it out,” Crowley said.

“Well, how does dating work, then? Who’s attracted to you?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smiled, lips curling wickedly. “In my experience, damn near everyone.”

Aziraphale blushed and sputtered. “I—I wasn’t trying to imply—“

Crowley laughed. “There’s a lot more out there than just gay and straight, Fell. If I’m too out there for the average monosexual, there’s several orientations that are attracted to assorted types of nonbinary people, or are attracted to people regardless of gender. I wouldn’t say I’ve dated much, but it hasn’t been for lack of people attracted to me. I’m damn pretty.”

“There’s types of nonbinary?” Aziraphale asked, attempting to move away from his blunder, though he’d absorbed the answer.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Nonbinary is the umbrella term, and also just how some people identify entirely. There’s a lot of less-known labels that fit under it. I haven’t picked one. Might someday.” He shrugged.

Aziraphale nodded. “You’d let me know, of course?” he asked.

Crowley smiled. “Yeah. Now that I know you’d respect it. Not everyone...religious takes it this well.”

Aziraphale hadn’t even thought about that yet. The Bible certainly seemed to preach its gender roles. Mostly. Maybe? He needed to research that, too. “Well...you don’t care about that,” he said. “I feel like the right thing is to accept whatever people tell you about themselves. They know better than you.”

“Bingo,” Crowley said. “You’re leaps and bounds ahead of even some not-religious folk.” He sighed. “My family doesn’t really get it. They don’t stop me but they think it’s just a phase, or something, I guess.”

Aziraphale nodded. He knew a little about that.

“Anyway. Did you have any other questions?” Crowley asked. “Or are you ready to head out?”

Aziraphale considered carefully. “Oh—if you’re not—you know, if you don’t want a gender—then are you still a he? Or have I been doing something wrong?”

Crowley wavered a hand. “Pronouns. That’s part of expression. I’m still fine with he and him and all that lot, it’s not as important to me as being called Crowley is. Being called Anthony on a day when I’m feeling—more like this, more feminine— _that’s_ upsetting. But not always.” He shrugged. “But anyway, some nonbinary people want to be referred to as they, singular. I personally don’t mind being referred to as they, either. Then there’s entirely other sets of pronouns, too, I don’t know all of them, couldn’t possibly. If you encounter anyone else like me it’s a good job to ask what their pronouns are, they’ll tell you.” He smiled. “Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Singular they,” he mused. “I’m going to try and use that, if it’s all right.”

“Sure, just...maybe not at school?” Crowley suggested. “Fuck only knows how petty they’d be about it.”

Aziraphale winced. “Right. I’ll be careful.” It was possible they’d try to find a way to punish Crowley, kick him out, or maybe just ostracize him more than he already was. Anything to try and get him to blend in more—the last thing Crowley wanted, and the longer it went on, the less Aziraphale wanted that for him.

“Thank you,” Crowley said. “Now. Are you ready?”

“I think so.” Aziraphale got up and checked his pockets for his phone, wallet, and keys. “Yes.”

Crowley stood up, skirt rucking up before it fell down into place, and Aziraphale saw a flash of thigh. The tights were, evidently, only thigh-high. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why that sent a thrill through him.

All of it sent a strange thrill through him, if he was being honest. Aziraphale had never been particularly interested in girls, but the idea of Crowley in all the trappings of one was _fascinating_. He was still thinking about what Crowley had so easily said, too. _Damn near everyone._ Crowley’s hard angles wrapped up in a soft skirt had Aziraphale’s attention in a way that the curves of a woman had never piqued. He didn’t ask, but he was trying to picture Crowley on a date—it could look like what Aziraphale had been taught to think of as normal, or with Crowley dressed like this, he and his date could be mistaken for _lesbians_. Aziraphale envied Crowley’s ability not to be _bothered_ by such a thought.

It didn’t occur to Aziraphale that Crowley might have a male date, that they could be mistaken for straight. The idea of finding another nonbinary person in one’s lifetime was entirely too much to consider, too.

They didn’t encounter anyone in the halls. Aziraphale was out of place still being in the dorms that late on a Saturday, really, nearly everyone left campus to go get their wild oats sown on Saturdays, before the required Masses and quiet times on Sundays.

Crowley drove them to the mall, playing more new music for Aziraphale. The town around St. Bernadette’s wasn’t the tiniest, but the mall was easily the biggest source of entertainment.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Clearance racks,” he said. “I don’t have much to spend, you know this.” What little money he did get wired from his parents mostly went to gas. “I ought to get a part time job, but do you know how hard it is to get hired, underage, from a foreign country?” He shook his head. “Maybe I should put up flyers. Mow lawns while I still can and then shovel snow.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Couldn’t hurt,” he agreed. He felt a little guilty about having more spare spending money and resolved to keep his eyes open for something Crowley might like.

He let Crowley lead the way, and Crowley’s manicured hands flicked through every clothing item on every marked-down rack they could find. He didn’t seem to find anything to his taste, at least not in a size he could pull off.

Crowley also dragged Aziraphale through the Hot Topic, just to smile at Aziraphale’s reaction to the loud music and punk and witchy vibes of some of the jewelry.

“You didn’t want anything there?” Aziraphale asked. “It seemed very much like your kind of store.”

Crowley shrugged. “Didn’t see anything different enough from stuff I already have. Now, food court?” he suggested.

Aziraphale agreed, and when Crowley ordered, he cut in to pay for it. Crowley tried to protest, but not much.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Crowley said, when they’d sat down with their food.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’m doing something nice for a friend. Food is love,” he joked.

Crowley only rolled his eyes a little, too busy staunchly ignoring the weird flutter in his stomach to give the eye roll a good effort.

“Now the bookstore!” Aziraphale decided, after they’d eaten.

“I should’ve known we wouldn’t get away without stopping there,” Crowley said. “Nerd.” There was no heat to it, though. If anything there was a note of fondness.

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Well, at least you know me,” he said. He appreciated that Crowley was—well, softening. That it really wasn’t just him throwing friendship at him and it not sticking, that they were starting to have a real connection, despite the odds.

Crowley followed Aziraphale around the shop—though Aziraphale didn’t wander far, largely sticking to the classics section. He did go over to look at the journals and other writing supplies, but he didn’t need anything there, he simply took pleasure in handling the leather-bound volumes and imagining what could be put in them someday, poems or drawings or stories.

Crowley was quiet. Books weren’t his thing, really—not that he never read, but he had to be very curious about a story before investing his hours into a book. However, watching Aziraphale’s intent focus and obvious pleasure made him—well, happy. Yes, they were friends now, but it was still a feeling that struck him as strange. He’d only known Aziraphale a few weeks and yet somehow he felt closer to him than he could remember being to any of his friends back in London.

Maybe, of course, it was just his unexplainable raging crush filling his head with nonsense and Fell didn’t realize at all how much he appreciated his company. Fell didn’t even seem to realize he was gay, as far as Crowley could tell—or at any rate he was nowhere near being out or pursuing a boyfriend. Not that Crowley would strictly be a boyfriend, necessarily, which was another wrinkle complicating the whole thing, and Crowley loathed complications. Dating should always be easy and breezy, in his book.

None of that did a single bit to help squelch any of the happiness that came from being around Fell, though, and Crowley figured he might as well drink that in while it lasted—though there was no quenching his _thirst_. Damn Fell for being so pretty and oblivious.

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely unaware of Crowley’s eyes on him, but he misinterpreted the gaze. “I’m sorry, are you bored?” he asked. “I—tend to get a little lost, looking at books.”

Crowley smirked a little. “I’m fine,” he said. “But I don’t need anything here, so we can go whenever.”

Aziraphale put back the sketchbook he’d been looking at. “Right. We can go,” he agreed. He hadn’t actually decided to buy any books—he was on strict orders from his family not to bring back any more luggage than he left with, and he only had so much wiggle room.

Crowley nodded and led the way towards the exit. Just near the checkout line, though, he got distracted, and made a beeline over to a display table—covered in tiny plants in small jars and pots. There were bamboo shoots and succulents, with and without blossoms.

Aziraphale had to halt and take a sharp turn to keep up. “Crowley?”

Crowley had already picked up a tiny succulent in a black lacquered pot. “It’s _perfect_ ,” he said. “Just look at it, Fell!” He was cooing the way most people did over exceptionally cute babies.

Aziraphale smiled. Right. Plants. He remembered. “It _is_ perfect,” he agreed. “You should have it.”

Crowley looked at it for a moment, stroking a finger along one of its leaves. He sighed and set it back on the table. “I can’t,” he said. “Haven’t got the money.”

Aziraphale tsk’d and picked it up, and dashed towards the registers before Crowley could protest. Crowley’s eyes went wide behind his glasses before he stalked after him. Aziraphale was too quick, though, and he was handing over the money before Crowley got there. “Fell, you can’t just—“

“I can and I did,” Aziraphale said, cheerfully. He put the plant gingerly into Crowley’s hands. Crowley looked down at it, blushing brightly, and huffed out a soft breath.

“You two are adorable,” the woman running the register told them.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to blush. “Oh—oh no, we’re not—we’re friends, not—“

“C’mon, Fell.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and led him away before the moment could get more awkward, and before the line piled up behind them.

Outside the store, Aziraphale shook his head. “She thought—we—I’m not—unless, do you think she thought you were a girl?”

Crowley sighed. “Hard to say.” He wondered the same thing, often, when his presentation of the day skewed feminine. “Thank you, for the plant.” He started striding down the mall’s hall, towards the next store.

Aziraphale smiled again as he followed. “Of course, Crowley. I didn’t want you to go home empty-handed. And I know you have to pinch pennies.”

“Still. You didn’t _have_ to buy me a present,” Crowley said. “But you couldn’t have picked anything better.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’m sure you’ll take wonderful care of it.”

“I’ll have to come up with a name,” Crowley mused.

“Oh, that’s a nice idea,” Aziraphale said. “I think this store’s having a sale, I can hold the plant if you want to go look.”

No wonder they’d been mistaken for a couple, Crowley mused. Aziraphale couldn’t be more of a doting boyfriend if he tried, and Crowley hated himself for thinking it, and even more for wanting it. Aziraphale had just declared he wasn’t—well, he hadn’t finished the sentence, but it was easy enough to fill in the blank. Not gay. Not interested in Crowley. “Who’s attracted to you?” Everyone but the one person who’d caught his interest.

Crowley pushed it all down. “Yeah, I want to look. Thanks, Fell.” He handed the plant over, grateful for the moment to step away. He needed to collect himself.

Aziraphale was still mulling it over, too. How could anyone make that mistake over a simple gesture of friendship? The clerk _must_ have thought Crowley was a girl, but—even then Aziraphale would’ve been flustered over the mistake. It wasn’t so much the gay part that bothered him, if he was being honest with himself, it was just that he didn’t want to scare away his only friend, coming on too strongly. Life was considerably better with Crowley in it, making it fun. Aziraphale had never had a close friend, really, and Crowley was warm and understanding, didn’t make fun of him for being socially behind—Crowley understood that that wasn’t his own choice. Crowley opted, instead, to help clue him in, and Aziraphale appreciated the learning.

Crowley, he realized, suddenly, was the best friend he’d ever had.

_Ooooh, you make me live now honey_

Aziraphale blushed a little as the song popped into his head. You’re My Best Friend, by Queen. Crowley played a lot of Queen. Aziraphale was learning to like them.

Crowley still didn’t find anything to his liking and joined Aziraphale again. “What’s that look on your face?” he asked, as he took the plant back.

“Nothing—just—“ Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re my best friend, Crowley.”

Crowley gave him an odd smile. “Your best friend here, from school,” he said. Surely.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t really have any close friends, even back home,” he said. “You’re the first really good friend I’ve had.”

Crowley huffed out a soft laugh. “Sucks for you,” he said. “You really deserve someone much better to be your first.”

Aziraphale sighed, he should’ve known Crowley would try to play it down. “Well, I don’t think that’s true. What’s true is you are, you’re my best friend, and I’m grateful to have you.”

Crowley didn’t say anything right away. Hearing it made him just soft enough that he couldn’t bring himself to come back with sarcasm. “Don’t go getting a big head,” he finally said. “But you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too.” It wasn’t quite the same. Crowley had never had particularly good friends, in either sense.

It made Aziraphale beam anyway. “Oh,” was all he could say, smiling widely.

Crowley felt a pang of guilt, between his lustful thoughts that (thankfully) seemed to have escaped Aziraphale’s notice, and the fact that he was absolutely still sticking to his plan to flee the minute he was legally of age. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had forgotten or didn’t care, but thinking about it right then felt weird at best—like he was letting Aziraphale down somehow.

But best friend or no (and Crowley didn’t want to call Aziraphale that), sometimes in life you had to look out for number one, and getting home to London was just going to be one of those times. Maybe Aziraphale would find him again when he moved back and then— _then_ Crowley might actually believe him.

They browsed a few more sales, but there wasn’t anything particularly interesting happening. “Well, now what?” Crowley asked. “We could see a movie, if you want, but you’d have to pay for it and they might think I’m your girlfriend again.”

Aziraphale blushed at the thought. “We could, though, if you wanted. But it would be just as easy to watch one at your house.”

Crowley shrugged. “Do you want to go back there already? Are you not having fun being...not there?”

Aziraphale smiled a little. “We don’t have to go to your house yet if you don’t want. We’ll figure something out.”

Crowley smiled gratefully. It wasn’t so bad at home, Hastur largely stayed out of his way, but it was so much harder to forget that he was trapped when he was there. Aziraphale made it easier, but if they were out and about Crowley could very nearly completely forget.

“Is there anything else you’d like to do?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hummed in thought. “Well...if you don’t mind spending the money...there _is_ an arcade...”

“I’ve never been to one,” Aziraphale said, brightly. “Show me?”

Crowley grinned and led the way.

Aziraphale didn’t take to the video games, but liked skee ball well enough, and they whiled away the afternoon piling up tickets. Crowley fed them into the ticket counter and let out a whistle at the final tally. “Never did this well,” he said. “But then I’ve never had twenty dollars worth of tokens to do it, either.”

“You were certainly good at that car game, though,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned. “Well _of course_ I was, you’ve seen me drive.” He took the receipt with their ticket tally. “Now...prizes?” He nodded towards the counter.

“We get _prizes_?!”

In the end they agreed to split the total, since they hadn’t kept count of who had won which tickets. As they left, Aziraphale pressed something into Crowley’s free hand.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked, and turned it over for a better look. “A ring?”

Aziraphale nodded. “It just seemed like the sort of thing you’d wear.” It was. The ring didn’t close all the way so it could be adjusted, and it was shaped like a single black feather. It had cost three-quarters of Aziraphale’s tickets (he’d cashed out the rest in candy), but he loved seeing Crowley smile. Worth it.

Crowley paused so he could shuffle his plant around and put the ring on his right hand, testing which finger it was most comfortable on, and settled it on his ring finger. “Yeah. You’re not wrong. It’s pretty.”

“I also thought you could wear it—you know, either way,” Aziraphale suggested. “I mean. Boy or girl. Er. Feminine or masculine.”

Crowley smiled. “I think you’re right.” He paused, letting it sink in that he actually had someone who supported him, who didn’t just roll their eyes when he wanted to try something out of the norm. The gesture was a lot more than a simple dime-store ring. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Aziraphale said, smiling brightly, pleased with himself for being correct about Crowley’s taste.

By then it was getting late enough for dinner, so they made their usual trip to the grocery store, and then headed to Crowley’s house. On Aziraphale’s suggestion, they did spaghetti again, and Aziraphale let him take charge.

Hastur shook his head a little at Crowley’s outfit. “Just need the big frilly apron, I Love Lucy,” he snarked.

Crowley just raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s apt, wasn’t she a bad cook too?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I can’t recall. But you’re not a bad cook, this is coming along quite nicely.”

Crowley smiled. “Smells good at least. Hopefully I didn’t cock it up.”

Hastur just snorted a little and left them to it.

Crowley convinced the other two to put a movie on with dinner, and eat in the living room (an utterly foreign concept to Aziraphale, who’d been raised with expensive brocade couches and white carpet). Aziraphale objected to gore while eating, and Hastur objected to mush in general, so Crowley put on Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “There’s kind of gore, but it’s very obviously red paint, it’s silly,” Crowley assured Aziraphale. “And they’re British, you’ll like it!”

Aziraphale did, in spite of himself. He was quite certain his mother would have a conniption over the way God was depicted, and the entire Castle Anthrax scene, to say the least, but he found himself laughing throughout the movie anyway.

Crowley’s spaghetti had turned out well, too. All in all the day had been a success.

After the movie, Hastur kicked them out of the living room to control the TV, so they hurriedly cleaned up the kitchen and then went up to Crowley’s room for another movie. “You all right with nudity?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and he couldn’t answer.

“In the _movie_ , Fell.”

“Well—yes I know—but—you want to show me _pornography_?” Aziraphale sputtered.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “No, I want to show you a movie I think you’ll really like, but it does happen to show a woman’s boobs, is all. It’s like maybe a minute out of the whole thing. It’s pretty important to the story.”

Aziraphale frowned, considering.

“It’s about Shakespeare,” Crowley said. “Fictionalized, but still. Practically educational.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Oh, well...”

Crowley put on Shakespeare In Love, and they watched it on his bed, shoulder-to-shoulder. Aziraphale was crying by the end, of course. “Oh, that was—was so lovely—but sad!”

Crowley nodded. “Worth tainting your virtue with a look at boobs?” he teased.

Aziraphale elbowed him. “I looked away during that part, it was easy enough to know what was going on without looking!”

Crowley chuckled. “Suit yourself.” He looked at the clock. “Best get you back, can’t have them locking you out. Then your virtue really _would_ be tainted. Staying out all night.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Aziraphale wiped his face on the sleeve of his sweater. “Oh, all right.”

Back at St. Bernadette’s, Aziraphale sighed. “I have Mass tomorrow,” he pointed out. “Twice.” It was required for the on-campus students.

“Is that your way of telling me we can’t hang out?” Crowley asked.

“We could, but I’m not really going to have time to leave campus. You’d have to hang out here. Come to Mass if you wanted to see me while that was going on.”

Crowley made a face that was clearly disgust, even behind his glasses. “See you Monday at assembly.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. See you Monday.”


	5. Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a call from home, gets a better look at what life is like for Crowley, and has a bit of a gay panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, in this chapter Crowley very briefly and jokingly talks about driving off a cliff and getting buried in the Bentley, but he's not serious, he just has a dark sense of humor about wanting to go home to England and get away from school.
> 
> Eowyndeerstalker informs me that the vast majority of Catholic churches no longer do Mass in Latin. Mass is performed in the language of the local attendees by and large, so the fact that it's still done in Latin at St. Bernadette's (and Aziraphale's home church back in England) indicates that they are very, very old-fashioned and conservative indeed. I wasn't aware of that when I was writing, but it still works out.
> 
> Fun fact: I chose the name St. Bernadette's because she's the patron saint of people ridiculed for their piety. Seemed appropriate.

Aziraphale was prepared for a long, boring Sunday, alone—or possibly worse than alone, dealing with Gabriel.

It definitely had its boring parts—he had never particularly enjoyed Mass, if he was honest. Even after he’d learned what all the Latin meant, it was still repetitive and he never quite experienced the religious bliss it seemed to bring his family and classmates.

Thankfully, Gabriel had a set of religious activities on Sundays and he wasn’t in their dorm room for most of the day. Aziraphale was extra glad of it when his family called him on Skype late in the afternoon.

His brothers had next to nothing to say, which was normal for their relationship. His parents asked the usual questions about his classwork, to which he was thankfully able to answer that he had all his assignments complete and ready to turn in first thing in the morning.

“Well, that’s good,” his mother said. “Administration had us...concerned.”

“Concerned? Why?” Aziraphale asked, utterly surprised to hear it. He hated their ”concern” when he’d actually done something wrong, but he found it hard to explain how much more weirdly it hit him when he _hadn’t_ done anything. His grades were sufficient, he was on top of his homework, he hadn’t gotten in trouble...he half wondered if somehow they knew about the movies he’d been watching with Crowley.

“Well, your principal emailed us,” she said. “A few of your teachers wanted us to be aware. They reported that you’ve been hanging around with...some kind of delinquent.” The disdain was as palpable in the air being broadcast from across an ocean as it would have been if she was in the same room—or at least it was familiar enough to Aziraphale that he imagined it into place, and tried very hard not to physically shrink back.

His father nodded. “They made it sound like you were getting dragged down.”

“Of course I’m not.” Aziraphale shook his head, and then, he did something he’d never even attempted in his life.

He lied.

“Crowley may have a bit of a reputation, but he knows that, and he’s working very hard to redeem himself,” he said. “He’s very studious and he wants to bring his grades up. He wants to be a barrister.” Given how good Crowley was at arguing his case, it seemed like a good choice for the fake career Aziraphale was giving him. “We do homework together!” Not usually, but sometimes, if Crowley had a deadline coming. He’d work on it while he and Aziraphale had a movie on.

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s father asked. “So you’re helping him rise to his full potential?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale said. “He was having trouble making friends, so I—I reached out. Offered a kindness. I’m teaching him to cook, too, so he knows for when he graduates and is out on his own.” He smiled. “He’s British, too.”

“How did he get into the exchange program if he’s so...troubled?” Aziraphale’s mother asked.

“Oh, no, he’s not,” Aziraphale said. “He has an uncle here. His family thought maybe the change of scenery would help him get on the right path. And it seems to be working!”

His father nodded. “Well, I’m sure your good influence has to be helping...just...see that it stays that way. Don’t let _him_ influence _you_ , do you understand?”

“Of course, Father,” Aziraphale said, amazed that somehow...they believed him. They bought it. They had no idea Crowley was already influencing him—though of course Aziraphale himself was still trying to deny that.

“Well, we had probably better let you go, and get to bed,” his mother said. “What time is it there?”

“Almost time for evening Mass,” Aziraphale said. “I should go, too. Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Aziraphale,” his father said, and walked away.

His mother nodded. “Good night. We’ll call next week.”

They both disconnected, and Aziraphale sighed softly. He felt like Crowley would’ve had a lot to say about their conversation, even the parts that weren’t about him. Maybe especially the parts that weren’t about him.

His parents hadn’t said they loved him—but then, he hadn’t said it, either. None of them had ever been overly affectionate with each other. They weren’t a touchy-feely family, and that was all right. He didn’t need to be touched. Crowley was the touchy one, always bumping shoulders with him—but then, he was so tall and long-limbed he really probably couldn’t help it.

He was just fine. He was so fine he sat there mulling things over until the chapel bells pulled him out of his reverie.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale sat together at Monday morning’s assembly. True to form, Aziraphale listened carefully to the morning announcements and Crowley doodled on the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen, stars and snakelike swirls. His nails were still painted from the weekend.

By the time they saw each other again at lunch, the nail polish was gone and his hand was raw from where they’d made him scrub off the ink. “They made me miss class,” he said. “Try to tell me I should be focused on my studies but they kick me out of class because all _they_ can focus on is a little bit of black paint. _Ridiculous_.”

Aziraphale frowned. “The nail polish?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Sister Michael had some remover in her office or they would’ve sent me _home_ , can you believe it?” When Aziraphale hesitated, Crowley held up a finger. “There’s absolutely nothing in the dress code about it. Nor makeup. I checked again this morning.”

Aziraphale sighed, and pursed his lips. “Well, dear—“ He’d started to say ”dear _boy_ ” and caught himself. “Like you yourself pointed out. It’s a boys’ school, not a nonbinary school. They didn’t know they’d have to make rules against...feminine things.”

Crowley huffed a little. “I bet they make a rule now.”

“Probably,” Aziraphale agreed. “They’ll ask how you expect to work in a bank or a law office wearing nail polish.”

“I don’t,” Crowley said. “I’d rather drive off a cliff than be a banker or a lawyer or any kind of suit, really. And that’s saying something, because I love my car.” At Aziraphale’s look he shook his head. “No, not the one here. That’d be the one to send off a cliff. I mean my Bentley back home.” He sighed. “The Bentley practically _is_ my home. Crash the car here and get _buried_ in the Bentley,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t that take an awful lot of space?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley laughed. “Ever the practical one, aren’t you?”

“You should just keep all four tires firmly on the roadway,” Aziraphale said. “Then you don’t have to worry about being underground. Nasty business.”

Crowley smiled. “It was just a joke. I have no desire to be buried.” Aziraphale was relieved to hear it, even though he’d known.

The afternoon was fairly quiet, the usual shuffling of the same students. Even in the class they had together, Crowley and Aziraphale rarely got to interact—chemistry was a challenging class, with not enough hands-on experiments for Crowley’s taste.

After his last class, Aziraphale got distracted, going over his marks in the class with his teacher. He was running a little late getting to Crowley’s car.

Crowley was already in the car, slumped over the steering wheel. It was locked, and he looked up, startled, when Aziraphale tried the door handle. He leaned over to unlock it and then immediately looked away, wiping his face on his sleeve.

Aziraphale got in with a frown. “Were you crying—?”

When Crowley lifted his face to glare at him, it was obvious that yes, he had been, but also there was blood on the sleeve of his crisp, white button-down uniform shirt.

“You’re bleeding!” Aziraphale said, and that was when he saw the trickle at Crowley’s nose.

Crowley grimaced. “Black eye tomorrow, more than likely.”

Aziraphale gasped softly. “You poor thing—what happened—come up to my room, we can fix—“

“No!” Crowley growled, aggressively enough to make Aziraphale jump. Crowley winced. “Sorry. But fuck no, I’m not going to your room right now. It was your fucking roommate, he jumped me, calling me a prissy pansy and the F word and—I didn’t deny it exactly, and he clocked me for it. Twice. Bunch of his lacrosse buddies were cheering.”

Aziraphale gasped, and his mouth seemed to open wider with each word Crowley said, until Crowley reached over and nudged his chin up to close it, making him blush.

“We should go report them to Principal Metatron, and take you to see the nurse,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley groaned. “No point,” he said, shaking his head.

“He deserves to be _punished_!” Aziraphale protested. “He was bad!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, I agree there. But Sister Michael walked right by. I called her over for some help and, yeah, she called them off, but she said she hadn’t _seen_ anything and it would be my word against theirs. Clearly Gabriel’s word means a lot more than mine. Or yours,” he added, when Aziraphale opened his mouth to offer to speak up for him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips firmly. “Well...drive me by the dorms. You don’t have to come up but I’ll get some peroxide so we can get your shirt clean.”

Crowley sighed. “Not much point, he tore it, too,” he pointed out, motioning towards where the button placket was ripped away from the main shirt, and a button was hanging loose. “I’ll have to buy a new one.” He groaned. “Not sure where _that_ money’s coming from.”

Aziraphale brightened. “You won’t,” he said. “I’ll get my sewing kit, too.”

Crowley blinked. “Your—you—“

Aziraphale nodded. “Come on. Just take me over. We’ll go to your house first and then get groceries. Get you cleaned up and changed. Or see what we can make with the ingredients at your house, something.”

Crowley nodded, silently, and headed over towards the dorms. He locked the car while Aziraphale was gone and was twitchy until he came back.

Hastur wasn’t home when they got there, for which Aziraphale was grateful. They headed straight for the bathroom and Crowley took his shirt off. He half-expected Aziraphale to want to treat the stain first, but Aziraphale was far more concerned with checking Crowley over and gently cleaning the blood off his face. His touch as he patted gently at Crowley’s face with a warm, wet cloth had Crowley’s heart fluttering.

Aziraphale found his hand more shaky than he would’ve liked, confronted with shirtless Crowley perched on the bathroom counter. The jutting hipbones were positively sin and Aziraphale committed every line to memory, though he would never admit he had a reason for it.

When Crowley was clean and disinfected properly, he hopped down to go change clothes. Aziraphale had to lean on the counter for a moment, gripping its edge to simply stay upright. 

_Damn near everyone_

_Damn near everyone_

_Damn near everyone_

Aziraphale couldn’t stop the memory. He couldn’t help being included in damn near everyone. It was one thing to pretend that he was simply aware that Crowley was very much living up to conventional standards of beauty. It was quite another to imagine himself on his knees in front of the other, mouth on those goddamned hipbones—and lower. He didn’t care if he’d be pulling off that restrictive uniform or sliding up a skirt and doing it while Crowley had stockings on, but he couldn’t deny anymore that he _wanted_ Crowley, more than he’d wanted anything in his life.

“Fell?” Crowley called, as he came back down the hall.

Aziraphale poked his head out the door, blushing brightly. “Sorry—just—working on the stain.” He hadn’t started, but he darted back into the bathroom to rush and do it, keeping his hips practically glued to the counter for the moment.

Crowley, dressed now in painted-on black jeans and a snug silver-gray sweater that came nearly down to his knees, leaned in the doorway. “So—this might come in handy to know again, what’re you doing?”

“It’s just peroxide,” Aziraphale said, showing him the brown bottle. “It’s very cheap. Disinfects. Bubbles away the blood,” he said, and poured a little more on the stain to show Crowley the reaction.

“This is the kind of shit they ought to show us in chemistry,” Crowley said.

“That _would_ be interesting. I know this sort of thing because my mother’s a bit of a fussbudget.”

“A neat freak? Spawning you? Shocking,” Crowley said, drily.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

Once the stain was gone, Aziraphale hung the shirt to dry while they looked through the cupboards. “It isn’t gourmet, but there’s some cans of soup we could work with,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Might as well,” he said. “Save a trip.”

They watched a movie first, though Aziraphale was distracted, sewing Crowley’s shirt back together. The button was easy. The tear was a little harder, but when he was done, it was barely noticeable from the outside. He held it up for Crowley to inspect.

“Damn, Fell! You could probably make money fixing things like that for people,” Crowley said, holding it close to his face to try and see the tear.

Aziraphale blushed. “Maybe,” he agreed. He didn’t need money. He needed to focus on his classwork so he could move on to university and get away.

Crowley smiled. “You wait here. I’m going to start a load of laundry, wash this.”

After the movie, Aziraphale put two cans of soup in a pot. When it was warm and he could get a good sniff, he frowned and went to the fridge to look over leftover ingredients from their past cooking adventures. He got out an onion, chopped it up, and started sautéing it.

“You’re making it fancy?” Crowley asked.

“I’m making it edible,” Aziraphale said.

When the onion was cooked, Aziraphale added it and a smattering of spices to the pot. Crowley watched with interest. “Smells good,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. Do you have any bread? Something to go with it?”

Crowley nodded. “Bread and butter.”

“Simple, but delicious,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley watched him go about putting the meal together. He helped a little, getting out dishes and such, but mostly he was quietly marveling at Aziraphale. Aziraphale could do anything, apparently, sew and nurse and cook—Aziraphale was the most _nurturing_ person Crowley had ever met. And Aziraphale was directing all that energy at _him_ for no reason other than out of the goodness of his heart.

He thought, not for the first time, that Aziraphale deserved a much better friend. Aziraphale ought to be cherished, and not that he didn’t appreciate everything Aziraphale did, he just couldn’t give him what he deserved—and even if he could, Aziraphale probably wouldn’t want it from Crowley. He was smart, after all.

He had no idea that Aziraphale was stewing over everything, too, thinking exactly the opposite—that Crowley would never want someone as boring as himself. _Damn near everyone_ was attracted to Crowley, so he could have his pick. Why would he ever choose someone as boring as Aziraphale, who was only starting to catch up with pop culture when most people were in the thick of it?

Crowley would almost certainly accept that Aziraphale was gay—though Aziraphale himself had to fight hard not to wince as he thought it—but Aziraphale still had it in his head that Crowley was only into women. They’d gotten so deep into the gender conversation that Aziraphale hadn’t considered the sexuality side. Internalized homophobia was a bitch, and Aziraphale was only starting to break through it.

The other half was that Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he wanted to act on his feelings even if by some miracle they were reciprocated.

He’d known most of his life. His childhood crushes had all been little boys, and he’d always just written it off as a childlike “girls are icky” attitude and expected to grow out of it and suddenly like girls when puberty hit.

No luck there.

Aziraphale had always been an anxious creature by nature, so when he started having sexy dreams and dirty daytime thoughts about other boys his age, no one really noticed his quiet breakdown. He had been old enough to know what his father meant about “dirty queers” and how all those thoughts meant he was going to Hell. No one needed to try and beat the gay out of him, he beat himself up enough, and if he gave off any signs of being gay, his family was content to explicitly ignore them, or write them off as his being “sensitive.”

He’d always been branded a very, very sensitive boy. His family had always wanted someone more like Gabriel—his brothers were all like Gabriel—and he knew his tender little heart was a disappointment to them all. He’d tried to make it up by being smart, an academic achiever, but that didn’t matter as much as being devout. He suspected that was why they were pushing him towards priesthood—his sexuality, and failure to lock down a wife and children someday, would be irrelevant, it would be one thing done right instead of wrong.

Eventually he’d resigned himself to all of it, that they were never going to be proud of him. He didn’t want priesthood, but he’d decided he could be content with celibacy, with pushing down his gay thoughts and focusing on other areas of life. A career in literature and a little flat to call home, maybe a cat companion. Perhaps it would only ever be contentment and not wild happiness, but he’d go to Heaven when it was all said and done, and maybe there would be wild happiness there. He felt like he would’ve earned it more than most, giving up what he wanted in life for it, after all.

One look at Crowley’s hipbones and the start of the happy trail along his stomach, and Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about any of it anymore. The thoughts were spiraling, and it was taking all the composure he’d ever developed not to give that away. At least fixing the soup was something he could pretend to be concentrating on while he was really thinking about something else entirely.

Could he really go his whole life without ever knowing the intimate touch of another man? (Or, at least, man-shaped nonbinary person? The labels were less important than the fact that Crowley was simply perfect, everything he could ever want, and he got the feeling Crowley would agree at least on that point.) He wasn’t so sure now, but he didn’t want to damn himself, either.

He was quiet long enough that Crowley cleared his throat to ask an inane question. “How long ‘til it’s done?”

Aziraphale blushed like he’d been caught doing something much dirtier than contemplating his immortal soul. “Oh—let’s just give it another five minutes to simmer,” he said. “Your uncle can heat his up later, I suppose.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about him. He’s a grown-up and all.”

Soon enough they were settled in the living room with their soup and another movie. “You really are domesticating me,” Crowley teased. “Hot soup and a soft jumper on an October evening.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s not so bad to be cozy, is it?”

Crowley shook his head. It really wasn’t.


	6. Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley convinces Aziraphale to partake in a celebration that's always been forbidden to him.

Crowley’s mood seemed to get better and better as October went along. He complained more about the weather (he was always cold, it seemed), and about school, and the rain when it came, but overall he seemed happier.

The third week of the month, it finally became clear.

“What are you dressing up as?” he asked Aziraphale.

“What?”

“Your costume!” Crowley said. “Surely you’ve decided by now.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What costume?”

Crowley looked around the cafeteria like Aziraphale had just dropped a fuck bomb with everyone listening. “What— _what costume_?” He shook his head. “Your _Halloween_ costume.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “The devil’s holiday?” he asked.

Crowley could only groan and put his head down on the table, making a show of banging it softly.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Aziraphale scolded.

“I should’ve _known_ your parents were that awful,” Crowley sighed, before straightening up. “Look. You like costumes, yeah?” he asked. “You’ve told me about church pageants you’ve been in, don’t lie.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, yes, that’s true...” he agreed.

Crowley smiled. “And I know you like candy.”

“Ye-eeees...”

“Then you have no reason to hate Halloween. You don’t have to dress up as a monster or a devil,” Crowley said. “You could be...I don’t know, a sheep. Or a cloud. Something fluffy and innocent. And you get free candy,” Crowley said. “That’s all it is. Despite what you may have heard, very few people are _actually_ sacrificing goats and cats to raise up demons. Promise. Even my goth arse isn’t going to be doing that...this year.”

Aziraphale studied him for a moment. “That was a joke?”

Crowley nodded solemnly. “No tarot or Ouija board either. No funny stuff. Just fun Halloween. Costume and trick-or-treating. If I had friends besides you I’d throw a party and we’d maybe bob for apples.”

Aziraphale considered. “Well...it is rather...”

Crowley sat back while the gears turned.

“It sounds fun, but I don’t have a costume,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“We’ve got like a week and a half. Mine’s mostly ready so I can help you make it,” Crowley said. “It doesn’t have to be Comic-Con level armor. It can be cute.” He was still thinking about Aziraphale in a fluffy white jumper with sheep ears on a headband and a little face paint, and smiling at the thought.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “So—no funny business? And I’d be back by curfew?”

“Have you _ever_ been late for curfew? Yes, of course,” Crowley said.

“And it’s really...free candy?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes. But never get in a van that says that,” Crowley warned.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Right.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You have to help with the costume. I don’t even know what to dress up as.”

Crowley nodded. “You think about it, and I’ll help you make whatever you want. We’ll workshop it after school if you haven’t decided.”

“What are _you_ dressing as?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grinned. “Maleficent.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Like...from Sleeping Beauty?”

“Like from her own movie, but yes,” Crowley said. “I’ve got the golden eyes. Don’t even need contacts.”

Aziraphale knew better than to question why Crowley would dress as a female character. After about two seconds of thought, he realized that actually it made perfect sense, right up Crowley’s alley—dramatic and goth. Instead he played the card guaranteed to rile him up. “She has her own movie?”

Crowley sighed as if he’d been deeply wounded. “Well, now I know what we’re watching tonight.”

* * *

That evening, they decided Aziraphale should dress up as an angel. Crowley made a convincing pitch for Ursula, so they could both be Disney villains, but Aziraphale didn’t want to be dressed in drag, or anything “bad.” Just to be safe.

“At least angel is a fairly easy costume,” Crowley said. “We’ll get an old sheet from the thrift store and put it together with pins, and get you wings and a halo...I think I’ve got some glitter in my makeup, we could put a little of that on.”

“I can do that,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Maybe we could make you a little fake harp, too,” Crowley suggested. “Cardboard and string.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh, that would be nifty!”

Crowley just chuckled. “Nobody says nifty anymore. The word you’re looking for is ‘cool.’”

Aziraphale sighed. “No. _You’re_ cool. I never will be.”

“I’m actually not that cool,” Crowley said. “If I was cool, I’d have friends.”

Aziraphale winced. “You have me.”

Crowley bit his lip, sheepishly. “I know. You know what I mean, though.”

“Yeah.” Aziraphale sighed.

“Oh—come on—don’t—I didn’t mean it like that,” Crowley said. “We’re friends. Honest.”

“But not because I’m cool,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head. “You know, it takes a certain level of cool to march to the beat of your own drum,” he said. “I just want to be sure it’s _your_ drum. Not your parents, not school, not religion even. Aziraphale’s drum.”

Aziraphale blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “And I don’t want to go to Hell for it.”

Crowley smiled a little. “Life’s much easier if you stop believing Hell exists,” he said, cheerfully.

“I can’t just _do_ that,” Aziraphale said. “And besides, it does. It’s in the Bible.”

“You can, and the Bible was just written by some guys,” Crowley said. “Just as human as me and you. You think you’d get it all perfect if you tried to write a book telling people how to live?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “They were divinely inspired. God _told_ them what to write. So technically God wrote it.” He reflected that if he _had_ written it, he would’ve made the rules unambiguous and much, much easier.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Even the bits with incest? And baby murders? And genocide?” he asked. “And all the dirty poems in Song of Solomon?” He grinned. “There’s a reference to oral sex in there, you know, and I’m pretty sure those lovers aren’t even _married_ , the _scandal_.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide at that. “You’re pulling my leg.” He was supposed to be the one that knew about religion. “You—you’re an _atheist_ , aren’t you?”

“Atheists can read, too,” Crowley said, drily. “And you realize there’s a lot of shades of belief between Catholic and atheist, right? Not to mention like twenty bajillion other religions entirely.”

“Yes—but—if you’ve studied the Bible how can you not believe?”

Crowley snorted. “I’d hardly call what I’ve done _studying_. And honestly I feel the opposite, how can you believe, knowing half of what’s in there?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “There’s good stuff, too.”

Crowley shrugged. “There’s good stuff in the tenets of Satanism, too,” he said. “And they’re better by virtue of there simply being _less_ of them.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded.

“Sorry, too blasphemous?” Crowley asked, clearly delighted by the thought.

“Yes!” Aziraphale said, and pouted.

“Oh, all right. I’m not a Satanist anyway,” Crowley said. “Don’t really like the idea of anyone having my immortal soul, good or bad. Or having an immortal soul, really.”

“You don’t want to go to Heaven?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not Christian Heaven, where you spend eternity doing nothing but worshipping God,” Crowley said. “Robe, harp, and halo? _Boring_. At least in Hell you’d be getting tortured and sure, that sucks, but it would be _interesting_. Boring would be more hellish.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You’re trying to make me mad.”

“No, Fell, I’m trying to make you _think_.” Crowley shook his head. “They seem to frown on that in religion, they’re more about memorize and regurgitate, even if it takes some pretty massive cognitive dissonance.”

“They’ve just already got it all figured out, the thinking’s been done,” Aziraphale said.

“I can sit here all day and point out proof that that’s not true,” Crowley said. “Like, celibate priesthood. People have _urges_ , they can’t just turn that off. Or I suppose now they can with hormones, but they _don’t_. And so what happens? Priests fuck nuns, and there’s mass graves full of baby skeletons where they murdered the evidence. And you know why they don’t just stop it and let priests marry now?” Aziraphale was too shocked to even hazard a guess. “Because the Church gets a _tax break_ for them. They’re functionally dependents, just like kids are for parents.”

“That’s awful, if it’s true!” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. It’s true. And it’s way worse than saying it’s people’s duty to help the poor and then taking the slightly-less-poor’s money and using it to cover their churches in gold, like God actually physically lives there,” he said.

“God is everywhere,” Aziraphale said.

“If He’s everywhere, He’s in nasty, stinky bogs and swamps and wastewater treatment plants and pig wallows, so I think He’s quite used to not being surrounded by gold,” Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale frowned deeply. “I...suppose...” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “That does seem rather awful now that you say it that way.”

“We haven’t even started on the Church covering for pedophiles,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale sighed. “I know about that one.”

“There’s a good movie about it,” Crowley said. “Has Meryl Streep in it. We could watch it.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair to paint religion as so bad when there’s so many good people just living their lives and trying to uphold the tenets?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “You don’t need the religion to live by the tenets. Frankly, if the only reason someone’s trying to be a good person instead of an evil bastard is fear of a magical sky fairy, I think that makes them less of a good person than people who try to always do the right thing just for the sake of it.”

Aziraphale was close to sputtering. “Magical...”

Crowley shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you, but I just really struggle to take it all seriously. Especially in a school full of people who preach all this same stuff but aren’t Christlike at all. You’re the only one who actually did try to reach out and be friendly, Fell.”

Aziraphale couldn’t even argue the point. He’d been the one to clean Crowley up after he got attacked, after all.

Crowley smiled crookedly. “We don’t have to talk about it any more if you don’t want.”

“It’s not as if you want to be converted,” Aziraphale said. “And I don’t want to force it on you.”

Crowley laughed. “No. You’re definitely not going to make a saint out of me. C’mon. Let’s watch that priest movie, I think you’ll like it.”

* * *

Aziraphale obsessed over the thought whenever he was alone. _Life’s much easier if you stop believing Hell exists._

Crowley had been right about the dirty poetry, after all, even if it was in archaic phrasing. Honestly it worked a little better for Aziraphale than something explicit might have.

Still, he couldn’t just... _not_ believe in God, and the Bible, and the saints. One couldn’t just _decide_ one day that the thing one had dedicated their life to was completely worthless.

Could one?

* * *

Halloween landed on a Thursday. Costumes were forbidden at school—absolutely no uniform violations were tolerated, though a few teachers had a bowl of candy on their desks. Aziraphale didn’t take any, wanting to wait for trick-or-treating.

Crowley and Aziraphale made quite the striking pair in their costumes, both in wings and flowing robes, one black, one white. Crowley had the commanding presence to pull off Maleficent, wielding the staff like he’d been born to it. He clipped a crow decoration to his shoulder to really sell it.

“You’re _Crow_ ley,” Aziraphale joked, earning an eye roll and affectionate hair ruffle. Crowley was even taller than normal on three-inch heels. Aziraphale got blushy over having to look higher up at him than usual, but said nothing about it.

Aziraphale as an angel hardly felt like a costume, even with a halo held up on wires. Crowley pinned the robes in place so that the straps of his wings were hidden, and Aziraphale just always radiated goodness. Looking at his reflection, he was so pleased with the effect he nearly actually glowed, even under the golden glitter highlight Crowley had applied for him.

They took pictures of each other, capturing all the details of their hard work, and got Hastur to take a few of them together, before heading out.

Crowley was smart enough to drive them to a rich neighborhood for trick-or-treating, and drive around a few streets before finding one with most of its porch lights on. They wove their way among small superheroes, animals, and princesses trailed by parents. A few of them asked to take pictures of Crowley, and he was happy to strike a pose for them—and with one little girl dressed as Sleeping Beauty.

When anyone dared to even think that they were too old to be taking candy, Crowley gave them a hair-raising glare and informed them that it was Aziraphale’s first Halloween.

Nobody dared to squash Aziraphale’s joy, and he was very polite anyway and only ever took one candy (and Crowley was pleased to see he’d found a neighborhood where full bars were the standard).

“It’ll take me until Christmas to eat all of this,” Aziraphale said, delighted, as they headed back to Crowley’s car.

“Was it worth walking through the fake headstones and past the mummies and skeletons?” Crowley teased.

“Oh, I suppose, though I don’t know why everyone can’t just use the pumpkins. Those looked fun.”

Crowley smiled. “Next year you should carve one yourself. Pumpkins are cheap,” he said. “Wonder if there’s any left, if we could grab one on the way home for you.”

“I don’t think we’d have time,” Aziraphale said. “Curfew.”

Crowley groaned. “Yeah, we should get home and eat dinner.” They’d decided to pick up pizza, since there wouldn’t be time to cook.

Aziraphale leaned his face against the window as they drove away, looking at the decorations. “I think I like Halloween. You were right. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with the devil.”

Crowley chuckled. “Did you think all the kindergarteners were summoning Satan all these years?”

“You would’ve thought so, to hear my father talk,” Aziraphale said, sighing.

“Well, nevermind that. It’s my favorite holiday. I’m glad you had fun,” Crowley said.

Not wanting to put Aziraphale back off the holiday, instead of showing him scary movies, Crowley opted to put on The Rocky Horror Picture Show while they ate.

Aziraphale was more confused than anything.

“Wait, when was this made? It seems so _risqué_.”

“He just... _created_ the man in the gold...”

“They _ate_ him?”

Crowley answered most of it with “Just watch” and a bemused smile.

Aziraphale was completely baffled by the whole thing. “I don’t understand.”

Crowley chuckled. “It just is,” he said. “Apropos of nothing. I should’ve shown it to you months ago and then we could’ve dressed as Dr. Frank-n-Furter and Rocky!” He knew Aziraphale would never go for such a revealing costume, but it was fun to watch him short-circuit and sputter anyway.

Aziraphale barely even registered the idea of running around in gold shorts. Mostly he was picturing Crowley in a corset.

They went up to Crowley’s room to change back into their uniforms, so Crowley could get Aziraphale back before curfew.

“Did you have a good time?” Crowley asked, as he pulled up out front of the dorms.

Aziraphale nodded and held up his plastic pumpkin bucket full of candy. “Yes. Brilliant.” After dinner they’d made candy trades and he was even more excited about his haul after that.

Crowley smiled warmly. “Oh—“ He reached over and brushed at Aziraphale’s cheek. “You missed some glitter, when you washed your face.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, drawing in a soft breath at the touch.

Crowley stared for a moment, thumb lingering on Aziraphale’s cheekbone. It would be nothing, nothing at all, to stroke down to his lip, to caress his neck, to lean in and kiss him—and damn it all, Aziraphale’s lips parted just a hair, as if he was expecting exactly that.

Damn oblivious fool.

Crowley pulled away and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, eyes straight ahead, hoping his blush was less obvious than the glitter in the darkness. “Better wash your face again, is all I’m saying. You know _Gabriel_ wouldn’t let you hear the end of it.”

Aziraphale gasped as if he was coming to. “Right,” he agreed. “Or he’d complain that I was getting it on his side—he’d just—oh, he’s awful.” He sighed.

“Well, go on, don’t get locked out. I’ll see you at assembly.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Of course. Good night, Crowley.”

Once he was out of the car and Crowley was gone, Aziraphale couldn’t help but lift his hand to touch where Crowley had touched. He sighed deeply. He shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts.


	7. Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current trouble prompts Crowley to explain his past trouble to Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief, not-graphic discussion of a past attempted (thwarted!) rape in this chapter. It's not a thing actively taking place within the story.

The next morning Aziraphale decided he was right to push down those thoughts. Crowley waltzed in acting like nothing whatsoever had happened, and Aziraphale realized that he’d been reading into it, that it was all in his head. Obviously Crowley would never want to kiss him.

Only every minute of every hour or every day, apparently. Crowley played it very, very cool, but the idea of kissing Aziraphale, of making out with him, of getting into the backseat with him—it was a near-constant distraction, and touching his face had done nothing to help make it go away. Not with the nearly sinful look it had taken on under Crowley’s touch.

And that was just the problem. Aziraphale was temptation incarnate on the outside, but innocence personified on the inside. And so! Damn! Oblivious! Crowley wasn’t sure how long he could survive being friends with him—but he wasn’t about to break it off, either.

The day was quiet, despite the holiday the day before. Aziraphale felt like it should’ve been different somehow, but he couldn’t pin down why. It left him unsettled. Trouble was in the air.

Crowley found him at the end of the day. “Ready for the weekend?” he asked.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yeah. Ready. Let’s get going.” He stuck close as they headed towards the parking lot.

“Hey!” A voice called angrily from behind them, big and booming. Aziraphale winced. Crowley tensed and turned, putting himself between Aziraphale and the person yelling—Gabriel.

The next word out of Gabriel’s mouth was the F slur, nasty and heated, in the plural, so directed at both of them. Aziraphale sprang back a step, shocked—they hadn’t even been touching, what would ever give anyone an impression like that?

“The fuck you on about?” Crowley asked him. “We’re just minding our business, you ought to try it.”

Gabriel was trailed by a few of his cronies, and Aziraphale’s anxiety leapt through the roof. It would be two against four, apparently, and they were already too close for comfort.

“We are not!” Aziraphale blurted.

“Yeah, then why’d your boyfriend here dress up like a girl yesterday?” Gabriel said. He grabbed Crowley by the lapels and shoved him back against the lockers. Crowley let out a groan. “You were on Levi’s street,” Gabriel said. “He saw you, _freak_.”

Hell of a price to pay for a bucket of candy, even if it was full bars.

“He’s not my boyfriend! I would never have a boyfriend!” Aziraphale insisted. “It was just a Halloween costume, is that really a reason to hurt him?”

“This freak needs to learn his place, and his place is not spreading his freak around to everyone else like an _infection_ ,” Gabriel spat.

“I wasn’t even at school,” Crowley pointed out.

“You’re still representing St. Bernadette’s, you’re _always_ representing—“

“Just leave him alone!” Aziraphale bellowed, and they all turned to look at him. Aziraphale was so angry there were tears in his eyes. “What has he ever done to hurt you?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Fell, you’re an exchange, you haven’t been here all four years. He hurts our reputation, I hurt him,” Gabriel said. He pulled back to swing at Crowley.

It didn’t happen. Aziraphale crouched and ran at Gabriel, throwing all his weight against him. Aziraphale was by no means a fighter, but it was enough to wrench Gabriel away from Crowley and knock him off his feet.

“You little—“ Gabriel vaulted back to his feet, but Aziraphale and Crowley had both had a second to recover.

Crowley lifted his fists, kept his weight down, ready to strike—he’d done this before. Not well, but at least he wasn’t at a total loss. “Won’t let you hurt him either. And when _he_ goes running to the nurse, they’ll believe _him_.”

“Right. Just you then.” Gabriel went in swinging, but Crowley was fast and lithe, and dodged quickly.

Gabriel’s friends grabbed Aziraphale’s arms to hold him back, but he was stronger than he looked, and wrenched free to try and tackle Gabriel again.

Crowley got a punch in on Gabriel, though, and Gabriel jabbed blindly, catching Aziraphale in the shoulder and knocking him down. Crowley hurried to haul Aziraphale to his feet before the others could kick him while he was down. He put himself back-to-back with Aziraphale, fists up again. “You’re not solving anything,” he told Gabriel. “I’m not going to change no matter how many times you hit me.”

Aziraphale lifted his hands too, though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to punch someone. Maybe he could at least block them, though.

“You’re really going to bat for this freak, Fell?” Gabriel spat.

Aziraphale grit his teeth as he turned his head to look at him. “Crowley’s my best friend. Of course I will.”

One of Gabriel’s friends got close, coming up from his other side, and took a swing. Aziraphale ducked, but it was only enough that the hit landed on his cheek, grazing his shoulder on the way, instead of being a punch to the jaw. He groaned in pain and fell to his knees.

Gabriel grinned. “That’s it. That’s what you get for encouraging him,” he told Aziraphale. He bent over and lifted Aziraphale’s chin to look in his eyes. “You better hope that freak shapes up, or there’s more where this came from.”

Aziraphale looked at him blearily, through eyes stinging with tears of pain, until Crowley shoved Gabriel’s shoulder. “Message received, now leave us alone,” he snapped.

Apparently it was good enough for Gabriel, who stood and walked away, ordering his cronies to follow with a beckoning flick of his fingers.

Crowley helped Aziraphale up again, more gently. He didn’t see until Aziraphale was upright that his nose was bleeding. “Oh _fuck_ , come on, let’s go see if we can catch the nurse before she leaves the office.”

Aziraphale didn’t protest, just tried to sniffle to stop his tears and then gasped with the fresh wave of pain.

Crowley winced. “You really didn’t have to do that,” he said, sympathetically. “You could’ve ran off. I wouldn’t have blamed you. Gabriel’s a hulk.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You’re my best friend. You said being my friend came with complimentary defending me to the death.” He smiled, proud of himself. “Goes both ways.”

Crowley felt guilty. He hadn’t even taken a hit this time. “I didn’t ask you to—“

“I was there and I helped,” Aziraphale said. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me because you _were_ trying to defend me, and you said as much to him.”

Crowley couldn’t argue, Aziraphale was right. “Yeah, well, next time we scatter,” he mumbled, pushing open the door to the nurse’s office.

She seemed more concerned with Aziraphale not dripping on his shirt or her floor more than anything, but she got him patched up and stopped the bleeding. She filled out some paperwork and handed Aziraphale a copy of one of the pages.

“What’s this?”

“It’s my record of your injuries,” she said. “Dated and timed. So you have some documentation as proof if you report them to the principal.”

Crowley frowned a little, not wanting to be a snitch—there was no good coming to him from that—but he hadn’t gotten hurt. Aziraphale had. It was up to him.

Aziraphale folded the paper in half and nodded. “Right. Thank you. For this, and the—everything. Thanks.” He looked to Crowley. “We have homework, let’s get going.”

Out in the hall, Crowley eyed the paper. “Well. I’m sure the principal’s gone, but we can check—“

“I’m not reporting it,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll keep it for if I need to do it later but not now.”

Crowley frowned. “You—“

Aziraphale shook his head. “They can use it against you. Kick you out for getting in a fight. They’ll all say you started something. They believe you did.”

Crowley wanted very much to hug him just then. He didn’t want to be in school, but he needed it to keep a roof over his head for the time being. Who knew what his family would do with him if he got expelled again? “You know what you are, Fell? You really are an angel.”

Aziraphale blushed. “It’s just the right thing to do. Now come on, let’s get gone before they see us again.”

They were in the car and off campus before Aziraphale asked his burning question. “Why did they call us that awful word?”

“Hm?” Crowley frowned, and then groaned. “Oh. Right. Well, I am one, angel, and they must think we’re together, or want to be, or—something.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. “You...like men.”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder. “I mean...I’ve already explained how complicated gender can be. And how I think it’s dumb. So like...I’d never rule out dating someone based on their body parts if there was a spark there. But also, yeah, as a general thing that spark happens for me with people on the more masculine side of things. Technically pansexual, but with a heavy preference towards men, more or less.” Crowley made himself stop explaining, suddenly ready for the shoe to drop, for Aziraphale to demand to take him back to the dorm, or worse just let him out of the car.

It was stupid. Aziraphale had been so accepting.

But coming out never got less nerve-wracking, even if this was the easier one than gender. (Or maybe it wasn’t. Sometimes people thought it was okay to _be_ weird but not to _do_ weird unto others, in Crowley’s experience. Like queerness was fine, so long as he kept it to himself, as if everyone he dated he’d converted somehow, like he’d invented the whole thing.)

“Pansexual,” Aziraphale said. “Like...pan, meaning all? Greek prefix?”

Crowley started to laugh, and slapped his hand against the steering wheel.

“Is that not right?” Aziraphale asked, nervously.

“No, no—I mean, _yes_ , it is—just—leave it to you to make this an _etymology_ lesson,” Crowley said, still chuckling, relief flooding through him. “You’re just so damn _nice_ , angel.”

“I don’t think I should be damned for that.”

Crowley grinned. “So you can swear! You just _won’t_ ,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. He felt better, with it out in the open.

Aziraphale chuckled. “I can,” he agreed. “It—I still want to be friends,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

It mattered a lot, actually. If Crowley liked men, that was an obstacle removed. Despite his better judgment, Aziraphale’s heart had leapt at hearing the truth. He was still certain Crowley would never be attracted to _him_ , all soft and no edge—surely Crowley would want a goth boyfriend? Some sort of rocker? Aziraphale hadn’t the faintest, other than Not Aziraphale—but it didn’t stop his imagination from filling up with lovely romantic images of the two of them.

Crowley smiled. “Yeah? Am I still your best friend?” he teased.

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course.”

Crowley reached over and skipped around on the CD until that very song came out over the speakers. Aziraphale smiled. “I know this one!”

“I would hope so, I’ve played it for you enough times,” Crowley said, chuckling. “Do you like it?”

“I find it running through my head often,” Aziraphale said. “Especially when we’re together.” He realized from the look on Crowley’s face that that didn’t answer the question. “Yes. It’s one of my favorites now.”

“Oooh, local choir boy falls in love with rock song, more at eleven,” Crowley joked.

“I was never in choir. I don’t sing well,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled at him. “Ironic, angel.”

Aziraphale loved the nickname, even if he also felt like he was at the least righteous point of his life. At least Crowley seemed to believe his efforts counted for something, that he was actually doing well at being _good_. Nobody else believed in him like that.

It felt closer than Fell, too.

Aziraphale didn’t want to think about the Fell name in any context anymore.

Fell from grace.

Fell for Crowley.

Maybe it was one and the same fall.

* * *

Saturdays became Aziraphale’s favorite day of the week. He got to spend every minute with Crowley, from the time Crowley was awake enough to function until the last minute where he had to run to the dorm door to make curfew.

Crowley loved them, too, even if his stupid crush was growing into an aching longing. The moments where he might’ve leaned in and just tried a kiss were becoming frequent. Aziraphale never pulled away, but he never closed the gap, either. He clearly trusted Crowley, but didn’t want him.

It was still the best time of the week. Crowley got to dress exactly how he pleased, and Aziraphale never batted an eye anymore. It was a reprieve, a day free of teachers and disapproving glares and familial expectations. They simply got to do whatever they liked with no judgment.

Crowley could bottle his feelings in exchange for how happy Aziraphale seemed, being away from all that.

It only mattered until April, anyway.

* * *

Crowley got a detention the second week of November.

Aziraphale waited in the library, rather than go to his room and risk crossing paths with Gabriel. Things had been uneasy at best, at least for him. Gabriel didn’t seem uncomfortable, but he was always watching Aziraphale when they were both there. Aziraphale did nearly nothing in their room if he could help it, he just slept there, changed clothes, and worked on homework. He got a stretchy fabric book cover and put it over everything he read that wasn’t for school, just to keep Gabriel from being nosy.

Crowley sneaked up on him easily, sliding to sit on the table and slam his book closed. “Heya, angel.”

Aziraphale startled in his seat. “Crowley!”

“I’m done, let’s go,” Crowley said. “Actually did my homework, imagine that.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, so did I, so we can do whatever you like at your house.”

Not _whatever_ , Crowley reflected. Not the thing he wanted to do most. “Right.”

Hastur had plenty to say about their being late, by the time they’d gone grocery shopping and got there. “Your mum’s going to have my head for this!” he said, when the truth came out about detention. “You know you can’t get expelled, Crowley! What did you even do?”

Crowley sighed heavily. “I wasn’t causing trouble,” he said.

Aziraphale didn’t lift his eyes from the groceries he was unpacking, but his ears perked. He hadn’t heard, and he hadn’t asked. Crowley had seemed annoyed by the whole thing and Aziraphale had been content not to talk about it and just enjoy the evening.

Hastur crossed his arms and just waited.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a bad day with my eyes,” he said. “I had my glasses on, of course, and it was helping, and I just forgot to take them off when I sat down in algebra class.”

“Your eyes are bad?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

Crowley looked over at him. “Yeah. I’m super sensitive to light. You think I wear these for fun?”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. “If they’re medical glasses, surely you could get a medical—“

Crowley shook his head. “They’re just normal sunglasses. No prescription, no medical pass.”

Hastur sighed. “They couldn’t just ask you to take them off?”

Crowley huffed. “Not when _Gabriel_ has to go and shove his arse into the situation. ‘Mr. Daniels, Crowley is breaking _dress code_ ,’” he said, imitating Gabriel with a very unconvincing American accent. “Mr. Daniels has had to remind me before, he gave me detention because it was my third strike.”

“That’s not fair, if you took them off and didn’t argue,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, well, that’s my luck, that’s how shit always works out for me, Fell,” Crowley said. It was the first time he’d used Aziraphale’s last name since he’d come up with “angel” and Aziraphale winced a little.

“That’s always your story, isn’t it?” Hastur said. “Nothing’s ever your fault.”

Crowley scrubbed at his hair. “It’s the truth, but it’s what I’d say even if it wasn’t. Doesn’t matter if no one believes me anyway. Don’t tell Mum and Dad unless you’re going to send them the detention slip so they can see for themselves.”

Hastur pursed his lips. “Two schools already kicked you out.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Not. My. Fault.”

“Right. Call me for dinner.” Hastur rolled his eyes and left Crowley and Aziraphale alone in the kitchen.

Crowley hopped up on the counter to sit, clearly irritated. Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look. “Crowley, dear...what _did_ happen?” Crowley had never seemed to care that it was no secret he’d been expelled twice.

Crowley tipped his head back, knocking it against the upper cabinets. “Not my fault,” he repeated.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said. “I’m still just curious.”

Crowley turned to look at him, smiling warmly. “You believe me?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve never known you to be dishonest.”

Crowley nearly reached over to ruffle his hair, but restrained himself. “My first school kicked me out for getting gay-bashed,” he said. “Someone painted the F word on my locker.”

Aziraphale frowned. “And they kicked _you_ out, not the graffitist?”

“Well, they couldn’t prove who did it, he was smart enough to wear a hoodie and cover his face with a kerchief,” Crowley said. “I wasn’t so smart when I filled his locker with baby powder.”

“You know who it was?” Aziraphale asked.

“He’d been harassing me, and they found paint in his locker,” Crowley said. “But you know. Video doesn’t lie,” he said, sarcastically.

Aziraphale sighed. “You really can’t catch a break.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Crowley said. “Truly. I’m not some idiot delinquent just trying to cause trouble for no reason.”

“What about the other school?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley pressed his lips together. “I suppose they had a point there. I _did_ beat the shit out of the guy.”

Aziraphale frowned, but waited for the rest of the explanation.

“I mean. Right after I pulled him off of a girl.”

“You mean—“

“Yeah. She was drunk, but she was alert enough to be kicking and screaming,” Crowley said, quietly. “I couldn’t find her after to corroborate my story, she quite smartly got the hell out of the party. Can’t blame her. So all the cops saw was that I’d quote-unquote ‘attacked’ the fucker. Between that and the fact that I’d had a few shots...” He shrugged. “Now I’m here.”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm. “You did the right thing. You saved her from something horrible. I wish she would’ve helped you, but I know she has to be grateful.”

Crowley shrugged. “It was the right thing,” he said. “Any decent person would do the same. Just...was surrounded by a lot of indecent people that night, apparently.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It was worth getting in trouble over.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Absolutely.” He smiled. “You’re a knight in black armor.”

Crowley laughed. “Let’s just try to keep all my limbs on, yeah?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, and then he remembered the movie and laughed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “No flesh wounds.”

Crowley smirked, pleased that he’d gotten the joke. “No flesh wounds,” he agreed. “But yeah. I’ve always had my shit together, despite what my family thinks.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m starting to see that.” He knew well enough what it was like for one’s efforts to go unappreciated by one’s family. “Crowley...” He felt like the other deserved to hear it. “I’m proud of you.”

Crowley blushed brightly. “Angel...you don’t have to...butter me up.”

“No, really,” Aziraphale insisted. “That was brave. You stepped up when it really mattered. That girl’s entire _life_ is on a better track than it would’ve been, with maybe court against that bastard, definitely therapy—who knows how dark it could’ve gotten? You stopped that.”

Crowley smiled a little. “You must be serious, if you’re calling him a bastard.”

Aziraphale smiled back. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t lie to you, Crowley. Now, shall we start dinner?”

* * *

Knowing that Aziraphale actually respected him only made things worse for Crowley. It was one thing to be liked—Crowley was dark and mysterious enough to have had hangers-on in the past. This was different. Aziraphale actually wanted to break through his hard shell, and when he succeeded at some small part, it only made him care more. Nothing he’d learned about Crowley had made him shy away, even when Crowley was sure it would.

They’d known each other for two months, and yet if someone asked Crowley who in the world knew him best, who truly understood him, he absolutely would’ve named Aziraphale. Somehow his sweet choir boy had gotten under his skin, become the most important person in this strange little aside in his life.

He still wanted to get back to London, to carve out his own life, the one he wanted—similar to the one he’d had, only on his own, without his parents running it—but now, sometimes, he pictured what it might be like if Aziraphale actually found him there. He dared to hope that Aziraphale might still care even when he started making his own life, too, even when he made friends at uni and didn’t need Crowley so much, when everyone in his life was dedicated to expanding his horizons, when the task didn’t land solely on him.

He blew it off as a fantasy. They were both merely trapped by their families. They were locked in the same gilded cage for now.

Come April, he was springing himself free. Aziraphale didn’t even want out.

* * *

The week of Thanksgiving was strange. Neither of them celebrated, of course.

“It’s a stupid holiday,” Crowley said, over lunch on Wednesday. “Shouldn’t you just be grateful all the time, if you have anything to be grateful for?”

“It’s nice that families get together,” Aziraphale offered.

“For people that _like_ their families,” Crowley countered. “For the rest of us it sounds like it would be a second miserable Christmas, without presents to soften the blow.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well...at least for us it’s like we’re getting three Saturdays this week.” He sat up a little straighter, grinning. “ _And_ Gabriel is leaving right after class today. We won’t see him until Monday morning.”

Crowley grinned, too. “Oh, I take it back, we should all be grateful!” he joked. “Does that mean you’ll be hanging out with me every day?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Everything’s turned in. No homework. What _else_ would I be doing?”

Crowley shrugged. “Getting trampled at a Black Friday sale like a crazy American?”

Aziraphale snorted. “No thank you.” The whole thing sounded uncivilized to him. “The only tradition I’m even a little interested in is the dinner.”

Crowley tilted his head. “What, the turkey?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve never cooked one, but I’d like to try.”

“With you, me, and uncle Hastur we’d be eating it for days,” Crowley said. “Turkey sandwiches, I think that’s what most people do.”

“When you think of how many meals it would end up being, it’s really not that expensive,” Aziraphale mused. “I could bake a pie from scratch, too. Pie crust is quite simple.”

“You want to?” Crowley asked. “I could get up early tomorrow, so you’d have plenty of time to cook.”

“It’s a turkey, we’d need to get everything tonight,” Aziraphale said. “The store will be crazy. Like Christmas Eve, sort of.”

Crowley smiled a little. “Sounds like a challenge.”

Aziraphale grinned back. “Shall we?” It wasn’t like he had anything more pressing. It could be fun, with Crowley.

Crowley smacked the table. “Hell yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk at me I'm also on twitter @ElliottRook. I tweet about what I'm writing next and post my wordcount, among Good Omens stuff and memes and shitposting, should you feel like being a cheerleader =) I always tweet when I update if that's helpful lol


	8. Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur is logical and everyone is happy about it.

Even though they were prepared for the grocery store to be busy, they weren’t prepared at all. It was a harrowing experience, and they both left with ruffled feathers.

“That...was insane,” Crowley declared. “I’m never doing that again.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I wish I’d known, I would’ve gotten everything together a week ago.”

Crowley nodded. “Still. We pulled it off.” He held up the tiny turkey they’d snagged.

Aziraphale beamed. “I’m not sure I would’ve survived alone.”

Crowley shook his head. “Honestly, I think it was because we had the cart to use as a battering ram. Now let’s see if we can get out of the parking lot without running anyone over.”

Aziraphale had his doubts, but they made it home—to Crowley’s, but Aziraphale thought of it as home by now. It was the place where he was happiest.

Hastur only shook his head as the two of them cooked side-by-side—Crowley worked on perfecting his spaghetti sauce for the evening’s dinner, and Aziraphale worked on prepping the turkey for the next day. “You’ll need to wake up early anyway and put it in the oven,” Aziraphale told him. “So you might as well get all the way up and come get me from school, even if you go back to sleep. I’d rather be here whiling away the time than be the only person in the entire dorm building,” he pointed out.

Crowley bit back the comment that he had no trouble getting all the way up for Aziraphale. “Yeah, yeah, all right, but I guarantee I’ll nap once you’re here. Especially after this dinner.”

“That’s all right, so long as you take me back by curfew.”

“Do they even have curfew over the holiday?” Hastur asked.

Both boys turned to stare at him.

“I mean, most of the guys’ll be home for the holiday, right? Is anyone even there to check if you’re in or out? Do they expect you there?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“You could stay here,” Hastur said. “Sleep on the couch or something. Or with Crowley, but he’s a starfish.”

“Snake,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale blushed brightly at the suggestion of _sleeping with_ Crowley, however innocently it might’ve been meant. “I didn’t—pack—“ he stammered.

Crowley shrugged. “One more trip to grab your toothbrush is going to be less hassle than seven more trips over the weekend to haul you back and forth.” He said it calmly, like his stomach hadn’t fluttered at the idea of having Aziraphale near all weekend, like his heart wasn’t pounding at the idea of seeing him sleeping, at the suggestion that they might even share his bed.

“Oh...it would save a lot of petrol,” Aziraphale agreed, trying to calm down, too. “Since there’s no curfew...I’d have to go back Sunday morning, of course, before my family calls.”

“Done,” Crowley said. “We’ll eat and then go fetch your stuff, and then bunker down here away from the crazy Yanks and their murder sales.”

Hastur nodded. “More sensible,” he said. Secretly he was just hoping Aziraphale would cook some breakfasts, too.

After dinner, Crowley came up to Aziraphale’s dorm with him, since Gabriel was gone. Aziraphale was distracted with excitement—he’d never been allowed sleepovers as a child, and aside from his feelings for Crowley, it just felt rebellious—and Crowley had to remind him what to pack. “Phone charger? Clothes? Toothbrush and stuff?” He was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been, to discover Aziraphale had a skincare routine. They finally headed back to Crowley’s house and decided to get right into pajamas and stay up watching movies. Hastur retreated to his room and left them to it.

“We could cut into those cookies early,” Crowley pointed out, but Aziraphale refused to spoil his beautiful dinner. They made popcorn instead, and then Crowley found some ice cream in the freezer, so they still had junk food for their movie marathon.

Aziraphale started nodding off during the third one. Crowley nudged him softly with his elbow. “Hey. Wake up. It’s barely after midnight.”

Aziraphale was used to being asleep by then, living with Gabriel and using every avoidance tactic in the book. “Hmm?” Suddenly he opened his eyes wide and he scrambled for his phone. “Turkey—“

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale set an alarm for six. “To cook the turkey,” he mumbled. He put his phone onto the charger and then leaned against Crowley’s side, resting his head on his shoulder.

It took every bit of restraint Crowley had not to bury his nose in the other’s hair. What he could smell from being that close was enticing. “We can finish the movie tomorrow,” he said. “After—I hear there’s some ridiculous parade on telly...”

“I’m awake,” Aziraphale insisted. “Just rewind it a little.”

Crowley did so, but they didn’t get any further before he heard Aziraphale softly snoring. He grinned and shut off the movie. He got up—slowly, carefully—and put a pillow under Aziraphale’s head and a blanket over him. Aziraphale made only the softest noise in protest to any of it, and grabbed onto the pillow with both arms, burying his face against it.

If he’d thought Aziraphale had looked like an angel before, it was nothing compared to the sight of him sleeping in the soft lamplight. Crowley couldn’t help but stare for a moment. “Sweet dreams, angel,” he said, softly, before heading upstairs. He wished Aziraphale was coming with, but he wouldn’t have disturbed his sleeping angel for the world.

The next morning, by the time Crowley roused himself at eight (a whole extra hour compared to school days), Aziraphale was already bustling around the kitchen. The turkey was in and smelling delectable, and Aziraphale was putting the finishing touches on his pie.

“You’re a wonder, angel,” Crowley said, shuffling over to the giver of his morning lifeblood—the coffee machine. “You want some?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Tea drinker, thank you, and I already had some.”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder. “No problem.” He made enough for himself and Hastur, who would probably want it whenever he rolled out of bed. He leaned against the counter to sip it, long fingers wrapped around the red mug, watching Aziraphale as he put the pie crust on. “Fancy.”

Aziraphale smiled. He was putting a lattice top and some decorative apple cutouts on it. “I hope it bakes all right.”

Crowley chuckled. “You’re a kitchen genius, I’m sure it will.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “What I am, is a foodie, who doesn’t have the budget for restaurants just now,” he joked.

“Still counts,” Crowley said. “And you’re an angel for sharing. I know we’re giving you use of the kitchen and blah blah blah but you still never had to agree to an arrangement like that. You’re a good friend, Aziraphale.” Despite his complaints about the triteness of the holiday, Crowley had, apparently, woken up feeling grateful.

It warmed Aziraphale’s heart. “That’s incredibly kind of you,” he said. “You—“

“You’re my best friend,” Crowley interrupted. “Best I ever had. No one else would ever do half this much for _me_ , not just because they wanted to, not without getting something in return.”

Aziraphale lifted a hand to his heart. “Oh, Crowley...”

Crowley shrugged. “Oh, don’t go—it’s not—it’s just facts. I like you and you’re just...good.”

Aziraphale cast his eyes back down to his task. “I’m not as sure about that.”

“You don’t think you’re good?” Crowley asked. “You went out of your way to make friends with the outcast. You’re always willing to share and help and just—do the right thing. You’re so...unselfish.” Crowley shook his head. “Your only fault is being so worried about the big sky fairy that you can’t see how amazing you are, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed crimson. “I thought you were usually cranky in the mornings.”

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t usually get to see you first thing like this. It’s doing wonders, actually. More than the coffee.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, eyes wide and a little glassy. Nobody had ever appreciated him like that. Even his closest friends—not that he’d ever been as close to anyone as Crowley.

Crowley stared back for a moment, breath hitching. Maybe he should confess more, while he could still blame it on being sleep-addled—

Hastur shuffled in. “Smelled coffee,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale turned back to the pie, trying to hide his scarlet cheeks. Crowley moved away, practically slinking across the kitchen. Hastur, if he noticed, did not react.

Aziraphale wondered how he was going to survive a whole weekend being that close to Crowley. It was one thing if Crowley was all snark and joking like normal, but a little honesty had Aziraphale weak in the knees.

Crowley went into the living room and flicked through the TV’s few actual channels—no cable, only streaming—and figured out where the parade was airing. Once Aziraphale had his pie ready, he came and joined him, and the three of them watched and ate cereal.

“What even _is_ this?” Crowley asked, laughing. “Cartoon balloons? What does this have to do with _Thanksgiving_?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure either, and wasn’t sure what to make of the appearance of Santa Claus, either. “Do they not do Christmas the same way here?”

“Thanksgiving starts off Christmas,” Hastur supplied. He’d been in the States for a few years. “That’s why they do the big sales tomorrow. First big day of Christmas shopping.”

Crowley shook his head. “Hunger Games to kick off Christmas. Now I’ve heard it all.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes. I’d much rather be curled up here in the quiet.” Rather here than with his family, too, he was painfully aware, but didn’t say.

Crowley dug up a deck of cards and they played rummy for a bit, with Die Hard on in the background, debating on whether or not it should count as a Christmas movie. Crowley was for, and Aziraphale was against at first, but Crowley won him over as it played out.

After the movie, Aziraphale disappeared back into the kitchen, and by the time the food was ready, everyone’s stomachs were growling.

Besides the turkey, he’d made stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, sweet potato casserole, cranberry sauce from scratch, and perfect, yeasty rolls. For dessert he had his apple pie, which had come out exactly as beautifully as he’d hoped.

Hastur’s eyes went wide at the spread. “We’ll be eating all weekend on this!”

“That’s rather the idea,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s sit down and eat!”

And eat they did, with Crowley and his uncle both exclaiming over how good the food was. “Seriously, angel, I knew you could cook, but you really outdid yourself,” Crowley told him.

Aziraphale beamed. “I never roasted a turkey before, I’m pleased as punch,” he said.

Hastur nodded. “Didn’t know you had it in you, kid.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It all starts with a good recipe and a little know-how, that’s all.”

“Still. Glad I didn’t help much, it’s delicious,” Crowley joked.

“Oh, pish-posh, you’ve learned a lot,” Aziraphale said.

“He’s right,” Hastur chimed in. “Did pretty good with that chicken on Sunday.”

It was Crowley’s turn to blush. “You liked that?” he asked. “That was pretty easy. Just—lemon and stuff, like he showed me.”

Aziraphale smiled widely. “Oh, that makes me happy,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re learning. That I’m a capable teacher.”

“You’re not like a real teacher,” Crowley said. “You’re nice.”

Aziraphale winced a little. “Some of our teachers—“

“Not any of mine,” Crowley cut him off. “Not to me. They all hate me. They were told what I was before I even got to this country and not one of them decided to wait and see what I was actually like. Might as well be a demon in a school full of angels, going off how they treat me.”

Aziraphale couldn’t argue the point, really. He’d heard Crowley’s complaints over the months.

“You’re no angel,” Hastur said, chuckling a little.

“I’m not all that bad, though,” Crowley said.

“You’re not,” Aziraphale agreed. “You’ve just got a reputation.”

Crowley sighed. “From trying to do the right thing.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I know,” he said. “I’m on your side, Crowley, you don’t have to explain.”

Crowley gave him a warm smile. “Yeah. Thanks.” He liked the idea in theory. He just didn’t entirely believe him, but it was a nice thought.

After dinner, Aziraphale oversaw getting the leftovers into proper containers, and Hastur loaded the dishwasher. When they’d finished, it was time to cut into the pie, which ended up being as delectable as the rest of the food.

“This may be a stupid holiday, but I’m thankful for this,” Crowley said.

“I’m thankful for the whole damn meal. And your friend,” Hastur said.

Aziraphale smiled. “Happy to do it. This is far, far better than being cooped up alone in the dorms all weekend.”

Crowley nodded. “And we’re glad you’re here. I’m glad. Thankful, I guess.” He smiled. Aziraphale had saved his whole American experience from being a nightmarish hellscape, but he couldn’t just go blurting all that. That would be entirely too close to admitting just how much he liked him, after all. Couldn’t have that, couldn’t risk the rejection, not after he’d let Aziraphale so far into his life—into his heart. Aziraphale could never, ever know.

Once they’d finished their pie, Crowley decided to find a movie and was shocked that all the TV channels had begun airing Christmas movies—and nothing but. “It’s a month away!”

“Thanksgiving is when Americans start the season, most people put up their tree today or tomorrow,” Hastur said.

“Oh! Are you going to get a tree?” Aziraphale asked.

“Do you even have decorations?” Crowley asked Hastur, who only grunted in reply. Crowley shook his head. “Guess not, angel.”

Aziraphale pouted. “I don’t have room in the dorm.”

Crowley chuckled. “You could get one of those tiny plastic ones for your desk.”

Aziraphale sighed. “ _Plastic_.”

“Tinsel, whatever you fancy,” Crowley said. “I’ll take you shopping.”

“I couldn’t take it home after,” Aziraphale said.

“Give it to a thrift store after,” Crowley said. “Someone will want it.”

“You gonna pick a movie?” Hastur grumped.

Crowley cycled through the menu again and decided on Home Alone. “These are brilliant! Hilarious. And Christmassy, sort of...it’s a good start to the season,” he told Aziraphale.

Aziraphale actually enjoyed both movies—they showed that a family could argue and still love each other, a hope he was still clinging to for himself.

Hastur slinked into the kitchen to poke at the leftovers afterward. Aziraphale was curled up in a sleepy ball in a corner of the couch. “Dare I put on another movie?” Crowley asked him.

“I’ll fall asleep,” Aziraphale admitted. “Unless you tickle me the whole way through or something.”

Crowley froze at the very dirty thought that crossed his mind. Did he do that on purpose? He was starting to wonder.

Aziraphale smiled. “Maybe you could put on something romantic, and he’ll go upstairs.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. Romantic Christmas movie.” He turned to stare at the TV menu, eyes straight ahead, desperately trying not to imagine putting on lingerie _just for Aziraphale_. Because that would be crazy. Black lace and ribbons, totally wouldn’t be welcome, Aziraphale had made it all very clear.

He couldn’t help but grit his teeth, thankful that Aziraphale was sleepy and unobservant.

He chose The Holiday. He hadn’t seen it himself, but it seemed like a likely candidate.

Hastur came back with a sandwich, and promptly decided to take it up to his room rather than watch the movie. “Good night.”

Crowley snorted. “Good night.” Aziraphale waved tiredly, and as predicted, Hastur left them to their own devices.

Aziraphale wondered what it would be like if the situation were reversed. Would his family leave them alone, since Crowley would be male in their eyes? They didn’t know it was women that Aziraphale would never want to touch, that Aziraphale wanted Crowley more than he could remember ever wanting anything in his life, that the dangerous situation was the one he was in, the one that maybe they wouldn’t even bat an eye at.

Friendships. Male bonding. All normal and healthy. They didn’t know his perverse fantasies, his dirty thoughts. And they never would. He had to stay strong, he couldn’t give in to temptation.

He glanced over at Crowley, who really somehow had no idea just how much Aziraphale was _feeling_ at him.

Crowley turned and gave him a smile. “If you’re tired, you can lay down. We can watch this again if you like it.” He put a throw pillow against his hip and patted it in invitation.

Aziraphale stared, mind going blank.

“Or try and stay up,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded. He couldn’t just _lay_ on Crowley—and then what if he _did_ fall asleep? He could feel the guilt even as he decided not to do it.

Crowley bit back a sigh. Aziraphale apparently couldn’t stand the idea of touching him—or his morality couldn’t, at least. Sometimes he could swear Aziraphale was silently begging to be kissed, but he wasn’t going to take the chance that he was reading him all wrong—and this was definitely not one of those moments.

“I feel so bad for her,” Aziraphale finally said, about the movie. “Unrequited love is horrible.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh—oh, I guess I haven’t, either, but I’ve _wanted_ to be. Very badly.”

“An unrequited crush?” Crowley asked.

“Crush sounds like underplaying it,” Aziraphale said, looking right at the object of said affections. “But I suppose that’s accurate.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I know what that’s like. And it _is_ awful.” There it was, right then, another damn twist of the knife.

“It’ll _always_ be unrequited,” Aziraphale lamented.

“Oh, nonsense. You’ll meet some lady nerd when you get to uni,” Crowley said. “Settle down and make lots of nerd babies someday.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “No,” he said, shakily.

Crowley almost palpably felt the mood shift. “Angel?” He muted the TV.

Aziraphale grabbed the throw pillow Crowley had offered him and clutched it to his chest. “I’ll never settle down with a woman,” he said, quietly, grasping at the pillow, knuckles white.

Crowley shifted closer, sitting cross-legged, facing Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure what was bringing it on _now_ , but he knew a coming out when it was imminent. “Okay, angel,” he said, gently. “You can tell me. Fuck knows I’ve told you everything.” He offered a hand, palm up, if Aziraphale wanted it.

Aziraphale bit his lip before laying his hand in Crowley’s. So much for not yielding to temptation. And even while he was fighting panic, it sent a little thrill up his spine, made his stomach flip-flop. Crowley’s hand was cool under his—no wonder he always seemed to be in cardigans and jumpers and jackets—the skin smooth and comforting.

“I’m gay,” Aziraphale blurted, much more succinctly than he thought he’d be able to.

Crowley smiled. “Yeah. I know, angel. Had you pegged from day one.” He’d once suspected Aziraphale’s overtures of friendship were flirting, for a hot minute.

Aziraphale groaned. “So I can’t—never—I can’t tether some woman to a life of disappointment. I don’t want to be a priest, but that probably would be the easiest—but—no—and I’ll just...”

Crowley tilted his head and ran his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand, not sure why he was still so upset. “Just what, angel?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I do want to settle down. With a man. But that would be a sin, so—I’ll just—have to stay alone.”

“You _what_?” Crowley shook his head. “Angel—that—that’s _stupid_.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand!” Aziraphale wailed, cursing himself as the blubbering tears began.

Crowley gripped his hand a little tighter. “No, angel— _Aziraphale_ — _listen_. A sin—that hurts someone else, yeah?” he pointed out. “It’s a choice you make. Something you do. An action.”

Aziraphale nodded, dubiously.

Crowley nodded with him. “So—being gay—you know that’s not a choice. If I know you at all you’ve tried so hard to ignore it, deny it, change it, pray it away...but it hasn’t worked, yeah?”

Aziraphale sighed forlornly. “Not—not at all.”

“So being gay is something you _are_ ,” Crowley said. “What you _are_ can’t be sinful. That would be like saying that being blond is sinful. Or left-handed. Or a certain skin color. Or disabled. And we left that logic back in the fourteenth century with fiefdom and iron maidens and stuff, yeah?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “It’s acting on it that’s the sin. Having a boyfriend. Sodomy.”

Crowley snorted. “Well, you _could_ have a perfectly fulfilling sex life with a boyfriend without ever doing that, technically...” He chuckled a little at Aziraphale’s expression. “But you don’t want to. Okay. But listen...do you _really_ want to worship a god that would be so cruel as to make you a certain way, completely beyond your control, and then not let you into Heaven for acting according to the very nature he created? That’s just like—well, I already said. It’s plain cruel. _If_ a god that would do that even existed, why would you _follow_ it? Fucks you over from getting any happiness in this life and expects your eternal devotion?” He shook his head. “Cruel. Unfair.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, mulling it over. “No,” he said. “I—I don’t _want_ to be alone my whole life. And—and you’re right. It’s cruel.”

Crowley stroked the back of his hand again. “You might have to get away from your family before you can really do anything,” he said. “But you should find a boyfriend, angel. You deserve the biggest, gayest romance you can find. A partner. Settle down and adopt kids if you want. You’re already not planning to follow their wish of priesthood. Might as well go all the way and have the entire _life_ you want.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I—I still believe in God,” he said, slowly.

Crowley shrugged. “I’d advise you to read up on other religions. There’s even types of Christianity that welcome the alphabet soup crowd—LGBT, I mean.”

“I know, I saw that term when I was reading up on intersex people,” Aziraphale said, brightly. “I—I can do more research. Always. And—I can still just—believe, for now...”

“I mean, you’re Catholic. Lots of Catholics do whatever they want and then just confess it all and call it good,” Crowley said. “But you don’t have to go to Hell just for wanting to be _happy_.”

Aziraphale started to cry all over again. “Yeah—yeah—“ He wiped at his eyes. “I—I probably shouldn’t say anything—at school. My parents—“

Crowley sighed. “Yeah. Welcome to the closet. At least you can organize your outfits while you wait to get away.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I still—feel—so much better. _You_ know now,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “So this—unrequited love—did you have someone particular in mind?” he asked, and suddenly his heart dropped to his stomach. Did he even dare to hope? “Someone back home?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Someone much closer,” he admitted. “Doesn’t matter. They would never...even if...even though I—they’re out of my league,” he said.

The “they” did not escape Crowley’s notice. “Nonsense. There’s no relationship you could be in where you weren’t the one classing up the joint,” he said. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “Not this one.” He bit his lip. “I don’t think classy is what they’re after. And I’m certainly not _sexy_ or _cool_ or...anything like that.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, slowly. “Have you ever heard that opposites attract?”

“Yes...but...” Aziraphale paused to try and formulate his argument.

Crowley watched him. Aziraphale was absolutely sexy, if not cool, even if he didn’t realize it. Crowley had long since lost track of how many wild, unbidden fantasies he’d had about him.

But maybe they didn’t all have to be fantasies.

“But what, angel?” Crowley asked, voice dripping honey. He lifted his other hand to trace a fingertip along the back of Aziraphale’s hand, along a tendon, towards his wrist.

Aziraphale forgot everything else completely. He shivered and it shook everything out of his mind except Crowley in front of him.

Crowley raised his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, and Aziraphale did it again, leaning into it, but he didn’t close his eyes, gaze locked on Crowley’s, almost daring him to make a move—Aziraphale wasn’t going to find the courage to go first, Crowley realized.

Never let it be said that Anthony J. Crowley was afraid to take a calculated risk.

Crowley leaned in and kissed him.

Aziraphale only froze for a second. He closed his eyes and squeezed Crowley’s hand, and then he actually _whimpered_ in pleasure and Crowley felt both relief washing over him and sudden excitement bubbling up, as he realized Aziraphale had been keeping this bottled up all along.

Aziraphale felt like he’d been pushed off a cliff, only to realize he could fly. Crowley liked him. Crowley _liked him_. That which had been forbidden was suddenly in his hands, to keep.

Crowley broke the kiss, only pulling back just enough to whisper against Aziraphale’s lips. “I’ve wanted you for months,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to push you.”

“We’ve barely known each other months,” Aziraphale pointed out, softly.

“Yeah, exactly,” Crowley said. “Almost from the first. You were just—gorgeous, and so _nice_ —“ He shook his head, cupped both of Aziraphale’s cheeks, and went in for another kiss.

Aziraphale slipped his arms around Crowley’s waist, and Crowley shifted forward, onto his knees, nudging Aziraphale back. Aziraphale went willingly, and with only a little adjusting, he was laying down, with Crowley on top of him, between his legs.

Both of them had had a dream like that.

Aziraphale had read enough books to decide to part his lips, and Crowley didn’t hesitate to dive in with his tongue. Aziraphale sucked softly and it was Crowley’s turn to shiver. He’d kissed other people, a few times, but it had been a long time, and it had never been anyone he’d pined over for so long.

Aziraphale’s hands wandered over Crowley’s back, but he kept them above the waist, of course. Crowley was so tall anyway that he would’ve barely been able to reach much lower even if he’d wanted.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair, his neck, his face, and when he pulled away again, it was only so he could immediately kiss Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale’s toes curled instantly, and then when Crowley sucked down he gasped in pleasure. “Oh— _Crowley_ —“

Crowley was thrilled to discover that Aziraphale sounded exactly as wanton as he’d imagined he would. “Mmm. Angel...” He nosed his way down to suck where Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck met, pulling aside the collar of his jumper. Aziraphale squirmed under him, overwhelmed, panting softly.

Crowley nipped gently with his teeth, but lifted his head when Aziraphale cried out softly. Maybe that was too much.

Aziraphale looked up at him. “Will we get in trouble?” he murmured.

Crowley shook his head. “Uncle Hastur doesn’t care. We could probably fuck and he wouldn’t care, so long as we didn’t do it down here on the couch.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, nuzzling close.

“Oh—but—I’m not—“

“I know, angel, I wasn’t suggesting we should,” Crowley assured him. He grinned wickedly. “But for the record, I’ve _thought_ about it.”

“...with _me_?” Aziraphale asked, utterly floored by the idea.

“Yes. And dreamt about it all the time,” Crowley said. “Yes, _you_ , angel. You’re gorgeous and I won’t hear a single word otherwise.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “After—when you were hurt—when I saw you without a shirt. I had a dream about you every day for a _week_. You know. _Sexy_ dreams.”

“I wouldn’t dare appear in any other kind,” Crowley teased. “Hope you got to have a good wank.”

“What— _no_ , Gabriel was there!” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Not even in the shower? Pity,” Crowley said.

“Did _you_ —“

Crowley only grinned.

“Because of—“

“Yes, you!” Crowley interrupted. “Damn it, angel, you’re hot! I like you! Just accept it.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “You really like me?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_.”

“So we’re boyfriends now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Well, yeah,” he said, slowly. “But I probably need that to be secret at school as much as you do.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. I just—want you.”

“That, you can have,” Crowley said. “I can’t give you much...we’ll have to be careful on dates, you know, but—you’re already here all the time anyway, shouldn’t be a problem to see you.” He nuzzled at Aziraphale’s neck. “And kiss you, and hold you...”

Aziraphale let out a soft hum of pleasure. “I think I like all of that,” he murmured.

“Given the way you reacted every time we bumped each other...yeah. You’re touch-starved,” Crowley said. “Not for long.” He pressed a kiss under Aziraphale’s ear.

“I like _that_ ,” Aziraphale whispered. Even though Crowley was keeping it slow and fairly chaste, it was all so new to Aziraphale that it was making his heart pound, making him wonder about doing more. It would be too much just then, but he decided to _consider_ it, instead of writing it off forever. Was there more sin in making love to one’s boyfriend than there was in having one at all, really?

(Probably, according to his family. But now that he had realized they were definitely wrong about _some_ things, he had to figure out _how many_.)

Crowley chuckled against his neck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Exquisite,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Could be better, if you have enough brainpower for a word like that,” Crowley teased. He sucked down a little harder, pulling a soft moan from Aziraphale.

“Oh—oh, don’t make marks—“ Aziraphale murmured.

“Damn it. Yeah.” Crowley kissed along the edge of Aziraphale’s jaw. “What if I put them where they won’t show?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Maybe another time.” He wasn’t ready to go whipping his shirt off.

“All right, angel,” Crowley murmured. “When you’re ready.” He wasn’t going to run Aziraphale away by going too fast, not now when he’d gotten this far.

Aziraphale was pleased by the answer, and more surprised than he should’ve been. “You could kiss my lips again,” he offered.

Crowley took him up on it happily, kissing him slow and deep, making his toes curl again. Aziraphale ignored the warm feeling in his belly, kept his attention on Crowley’s lips, cool over his own, but warming up as they stayed pressed together.

Aziraphale had a new favorite thing in the world. Kissing Crowley was better than books—but then, if kissing Crowley was part of his world now, it wasn’t a world he needed so much escape from. If anything, he felt that books had undersold to him just how wonderful kissing felt.

Crowley loved it, too—every move he made seemed to affect Aziraphale so much more than it would others. Aziraphale sighed happily with each little touch, grasped him a little tighter, hung on to him like he was never going to let go.

Crowley didn’t want to let go, but he would have to, eventually. April was coming. But that was five months away. Might as well indulge in the moment.

Aziraphale eventually put a hand in Crowley’s hair. “Wait. Let me.” He lifted his head and nuzzled at Crowley’s neck, and kissed softly.

“Ahh, fuck, angel,” Crowley breathed, tipping his head. “Yeah—“

Aziraphale didn’t need much encouragement. He kissed a wet trail along Crowley’s throat, down to his shoulder, that had Crowley moaning softly.

“Am I doing it right?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Perfect, angel,” Crowley murmured. He tugged his shirt collar aside. “You can put marks on me if you like...”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, but he latched on to the bare spot of skin, sucking down hard, and Crowley moaned happily. Aziraphale took that as a good sign and kept at it. When he pulled back to look and see if it was working, there was a dark bruise on the crook of Crowley’s shoulder.

“Oh...” he breathed. “It doesn’t hurt?”

Crowley laughed softly. “No. Well, yes, sort of—it’s tender, will be for a day or two, but I promise it feels so good you won’t mind. Kind of nice to go about your day and know it’s there, remember how it got there.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. He wanted that, wanted something so he’d know he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing again. He took a deep breath and pulled his collar out of the way, too.

Crowley smiled and leaned in to kiss his skin, just on his collarbone. Aziraphale gasped, but didn’t want to stop him, when he dug in a little with his teeth.

Crowley worked him over until they had matching marks, a memento of the momentous moment. Aziraphale reached up to brush delicate fingers over the tender spot. “Ooh—“

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “Hurts so good, mmm?”

Aziraphale hummed softly. “Yes. Think so. Is it dark?”

“On _your_ skin? Of course. Takes next to nothing. I probably went overboard, but you sounded so—tantalizing.” Crowley yawned softly. “The best spot is here,” he said, dragging his fingers along Aziraphale’s neck, making him shiver. “But your collar might not hide it there.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Too bad.”

Crowley shrugged. “Plenty of other places that still feel really good. You won’t suffer,” he murmured.

Aziraphale smiled. “No. I won’t suffer,” he murmured. “Not with you, like this...”

Crowley shifted to lay his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “Mmm. Hear your heartbeat,” he whispered. He’d never felt so comfortable with someone, completely relaxed.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yeah...” He suspected Crowley was sleepy, and didn’t want to move him. He rubbed his back gently, and Crowley practically purred.

Aziraphale was in no hurry to have Crowley move away, either, so he just relaxed under him, rubbing his back slowly...slower and slower...

They both fell asleep, of course.


	9. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley continue to enjoy each other's company, and Hastur continues to be chill.

Hastur found them in the morning, the TV still on and muted, playing an infomercial, and only shook his head and went right past them towards the kitchen. He just wondered what had taken them so long.

Crowley stirred when he smelled coffee. He blinked awake, and his eyes went wide when he realized where he was. He shook Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel...angel...” Hastur had seen them, he had to have.

“Mmm?” Aziraphale took a moment to wake, and he went suddenly stiff. “Oh—“

Crowley cleared his throat. “We fell asleep.”

“Right...” Aziraphale started to sit up, and Crowley obligingly moved off of him.

“Sorry...” Crowley started, though he wasn’t, really.

Aziraphale sat up and crossed his legs under himself. “We—we were dressed, I know we slept together but it’s not like we _slept_ together, I—“

Crowley nodded. “I—I didn’t mean to—you were just—so comfortable...so _sweet_...”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Are we going to get in trouble?”

Crowley’s face softened. If that was what Aziraphale was worried about, he wasn’t mad about it. “Oh. No. Don’t think so.”

Hastur came in, took the TV remote, and sat in his recliner. “There’s coffee,” he informed them, though his own steaming mug made that obvious. He flicked through the channels and put on The Price Is Right.

Crowley facepalmed. “Right.”

“I think I’ll just...run upstairs, change into some fresh clothes...” Aziraphale said, getting up and slipping away.

Hastur looked over at Crowley. “So he’s your boyfriend now?”

Crowley lifted his face just enough to expose one eye, then reached over to the end table between them to pick up his glasses and put them on. “Yup.”

“Right. Not surprised. You two makin’ moony eyes at each other all the time.”

“I was not!” Crowley protested.

Hastur snorted. “Yeah. All right. You’re a goner for him.”

Crowley just huffed and crossed his arms and tried to sink into the couch, maybe become one with it.

Aziraphale was upstairs for a little while, changing and brushing his teeth and fighting panic, but he had more or less collected himself by the time he came back downstairs. He didn’t sit on the far end of the couch, he took his place right next to Crowley.

So that was how it was going to be? Crowley smiled and slipped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, fingertips playing in soft circles on his arm. He pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s temple that set him blushing furiously.

Aziraphale looked up at him. “We’re not in trouble?”

Hastur looked over at them. “Fuck no, you’re not in trouble! If he’s kissing you, he’s not getting anyone pregnant and I don’t have to deal with his mum.”

Aziraphale blushed at the thought.

Crowley laughed. “Priorities, I guess.”

Hastur grunted in agreement.

“You want breakfast?” Crowley asked Aziraphale. “I think there’s some pretty amazing apple pie. And there’s coffee.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes. Let’s.”

They went into the kitchen. When they were alone, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his arms and nuzzled at his neck. “Mmm. Good morning,” he declared.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed.

Crowley peeled away reluctantly to get the pie out. “You still want this?” he asked, softly. “You and me? No second thoughts?”

Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment. “Of course not,” he said. “It’s _all_ I’ve wanted for a long time now. Maybe from the minute we met. Or before—when you came to class the first time, I don’t know if you even saw me...”

“I saw you,” Crowley said, as he put the pie on the counter and braced himself against it with both hands. “You were staring, angel.” He smiled a little. “More than the others, I mean. Like you gave a fuck. Guess you did.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know, when I moved here—I swore I wouldn’t make friends. Wouldn’t have anyone to miss when I went home that way. But—here we are.”

“You won’t have to miss me,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll be going back to London, too.”

Crowley gave him a rueful smile. “I know you are,” he said. _We’ll see_ , he didn’t say. He was sure it was all going to be a different thing when Aziraphale was back under the watchful eyes of his parents, especially after they would’ve been apart from each other for a few weeks. Crowley wouldn’t be worth it to him anymore, he was sure.

Aziraphale smiled. Maybe now Crowley would finish the school year, and they could travel home together. The summer would be difficult, but once Aziraphale started university it would all be simple again.

Crowley dished out the pie and got coffee for himself. “There might be tea, if you want to look through the cabinets.”

“I think I’ll just have coffee, it’s already ready,” Aziraphale said, getting himself a mug.

“Taking lots of chances this weekend, are we?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale wasn’t taking that many chances, and loaded the drink down with sugar and milk. “I suppose,” he said, with a sly smile. He joined Crowley at the table. “Everything terrible feels far away right now.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Crowley said. “It’ll all come crashing back Monday.”

“Shush. Forget Monday. Forget my family. Forget Gabriel and our teachers and—just—nothing right now but you and me.”

Crowley smiled at him. “All right, angel. We’ll just be blissed out this weekend. Just you and me. What do you want to do after breakfast?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Does anyone from school live in your neighborhood?”

“You know they don’t,” Crowley said. “I’m the only charity case.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “We could go for a walk.”

Crowley smiled. “Sure, but you have to warm me up when we get back.”

A little less than an hour later, with Crowley in three layers under his coat, they headed out to stroll the neighborhood, and Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand without a second thought. Who would care? Nearly everyone was with their family, or Black Friday shopping, and his own family was an entire ocean away.

It was the opposite of a Black Friday as far as Aziraphale was concerned, aside from his boyfriend’s chosen color palette. It wasn’t just that he had a boyfriend. He was trying very hard to let go of the guilt and shame that had been drilled into him, and just then, it was working. It was hard to feel bad about breaking rules when it was bringing him everything he’d ever wanted.

He was gay. He had a boyfriend. A beautiful, goth, atheist, perfect boyfriend, who had kissed him over and over—who enjoyed kissing him, who had left a _mark_ on him—and now they were walking hand-in-hand, shoulders close, enjoying a quiet intimacy, and Aziraphale hadn’t gotten smited for _any_ of it, somehow.

Crowley was thinking much the same, minus worrying about smiting. It felt strangely perfect, and the silence was comfortable, not awkward.

No one of consequence saw them, either. In a way they were lucky that Crowley wasn’t as well-off as their classmates. The only people they encountered were an old man walking a dachshund and a trim couple out for a post-meal run, and none of them had anything to say, just an exchange of polite smiles—Crowley and Aziraphale tended to veer left rather than right like the Americans and caused themselves a bit of a dance with strangers.

They got to a nearby park, and Crowley tugged Aziraphale inside. “Won’t be anyone here.” He was right, but Aziraphale was confused until Crowley led the way up to the playground. With no children around it wasn’t creepy for them to play around, and Crowley made a beeline for the swings.

“You don’t think we’ll get in trouble?” Aziraphale asked.

“For what? Not paying American taxes?” Crowley asked. “It’s a free country even if we’re not citizens, isn’t it?” Aziraphale still hesitated as Crowley got onto the swing with the highest seat and started to swing. “C’mon, if you’re not going to swing, at least come give _me_ a push.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sat in the swing next to him. “I’ll swing,” he said, laughing a little. “I suppose the worst that could happen is someone asks us to stop.”

“That’s the spirit!” Crowley called, already moving at a fair pace. Aziraphale laughed and started to swing with him.

He wasn’t able to watch as closely as he would’ve liked, but Aziraphale took great pleasure in the unbridled joy written across Crowley’s face. It made him happy, too, seeing Crowley actually having fun, not worried about school or anything else.

“Can you swing as high as me, angel, do you know how?” Crowley called.

“Think so!” Aziraphale started pumping his legs. He hadn’t been on a swing set in years but it all came rushing back as he climbed higher and higher. He closed his eyes to enjoy the thrill.

“Nice going!” Crowley said, admirably. “I’m still winning...”

“Only because your legs are longer!” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

When they tired of the swings, Crowley went climbing on the slides, crawling through the little tunnels and such, and pulled Aziraphale up after him once he’d found what he was looking for—a cube barred from view on all sides by its walls, only open sky above them.

He was stretched out on his back on the platform. His feet stuck out from the end.

Aziraphale smiled at him curiously. “What are we doing?”

Crowley held an arm open for him. “Cuddling?” he offered.

Aziraphale laid down next to him, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley wrapped his arm around him. “This would be a good place for cloud gazing, if the whole sky wasn’t one continuous cloud,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Pity, that.”

“It’s still nice here,” Crowley said. “Quiet. Out of the wind.”

“It’ll snow soon,” Aziraphale said.

“We’ll make snow yous,” Crowley teased, making Aziraphale laugh and lean in closer, burying his face against Crowley’s coat.

It felt so _easy_ just then. Crowley felt _happy_. Funny how his precious nerd angel could do that so easily, just with the sound of his laugh.

Crowley turned his head to look at him, and stroked his cheek. “Hey.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes?”

Crowley leaned in and kissed him, which had been his plan the whole time, but also he’d been hit with an overwhelming need to express just how much affection he had for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, for his part, melted into it, rolling onto his side, sliding his hand up Crowley’s chest, and despite the chilly air, Crowley regretted being so bundled up. He put his hand over Aziraphale’s, they could both feel that with only gloves on, there.

Aziraphale pulled back and smiled at him. “I do enjoy that.”

Crowley chuckled. “Me too. Let’s not stop to discuss.”

Aziraphale gasped softly and leaned down to kiss him again. Crowley slipped an arm under him, pulling him closer.

They stayed there for a while, until laying on the playground equipment got too cold. “I need to move around again, get my blood going,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale had a dirty thought, but didn’t voice it. “Should we head home?”

Crowley nodded. “Suppose so. Have some cocoa.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Yes, of course!”

Crowley got up and slipped away, getting back to the ground by going down the slide, and Aziraphale followed, and jumped into his arms for one more kiss before taking his hand for the walk back.

* * *

Hastur was gone when they returned, so they had no shame about cuddling up on the couch with cocoa to watch more movies. They were in constant contact, Crowley drinking in Aziraphale’s warmth.

Hastur turned up in time for dinner, which was mostly leftovers, still.

After they ate, Crowley put on Titanic. “It’s long but I think you’ll like it,” he told Aziraphale. “Historically accurate, and romantic. And more boobs, but I know you’re not interested in that,” he teased.

“Are _you_?” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley shrugged. “I wouldn’t say never, but mostly no. I like the shape of you.”

Aziraphale had meant to tease him but ended up blushing brightly. “Me, specifically? Or you mean men?”

Crowley shook his head. “I meant what I said. You.”

“I—I’m soft,” Aziraphale pointed out, as if Crowley hadn’t held him in his arms, as if they hadn’t been looking at each other nearly every day for two months.

Crowley looked over at him with warm eyes. “Angel. I know,” he said. “Don’t go thinking you need to be a Gabriel with a six-pack to be appealing.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re soft. It’s good for hugging, and this, cuddling. You’re so _warm_ all the time. I would say I don’t care that you have a few extra pounds but that’s a lie. I _like_ it. File it under opposites attract if you like.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Really?” he murmured. “But—but—I guess with a thick jumper—“

“Angel, did you miss my telling you I’ve had multiple sex dreams about you?” Crowley asked. “I have a _pretty_ decent idea of what you look like naked. And if you ever show me, I’ll count myself lucky.” Aziraphale started to protest and he held up a finger. “No. Stop it. You’re hot. Ripped abs are not always where it’s at. If I cared, I wouldn’t be dating you. And I am. I picked you because of how handsome you are, not _in spite of_ your weight.”

“You really think I’m handsome?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smiled. “I think you look like Prince Charming,” he said. “Like you’d be right at home in royal finery. Noble. Stately. Classy.”

“The prince to your black knight?” Aziraphale asked.

“Hell yeah!” Crowley agreed. “And I’ll be happy to slaughter a whole castle if you sing out a window for me,” he teased, going back to Monty Python.

Aziraphale laughed, insecurities melting away. Crowley _had_ told him he never offered anything he didn’t want to, after all. He must be telling the truth, and it boosted Aziraphale’s confidence in a way no other compliment ever had.

There was also the tidbit that Crowley actually wanted to see him naked. That was getting filed away for later, when Aziraphale would be alone long enough to get an entirely different kind of cocky.

He wasn’t ready, but he was starting to get used to the idea that maybe he wouldn’t get married first, that maybe something would change and he _would_ feel ready eventually. Who knew if Crowley was even the type to want to get married at all, ever? And maybe that was all right. A whole new world was opening up for him, one where he actually indulged his sexual thoughts instead of pretending he never had any.

There was no denying them, after all, not looking at Crowley.

Aziraphale did enjoy the movie, even if he was crying for most of the end of it. Crowley let him do so in peace without teasing. He appreciated that Aziraphale had a tender heart—he knew it was what had brought them together.

“Do you want to watch another?” Crowley asked, afterward.

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s a bit late...we should get ready for bed,” he said. “And then maybe you could cuddle me for a bit before you go up to sleep?”

Crowley smiled. Sounded like an invitation to sleep on the couch with Aziraphale to him, but he didn’t call Aziraphale out for it, just turned off the TV and went up to get into pajamas.

A little while later they curled up together, Aziraphale with his head on the arm of the couch, pillows arranged under him, Crowley on top of him with arms around him.

“No wonder I fell asleep like this yesterday,” Aziraphale mused. “I’m so comfortable.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not a mystery.” He snuggled close, his forehead against the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Bit cold though...pajamas are thinner...”

Aziraphale tossed the throw blanket over both of them. “Better? Warm enough?”

Crowley nodded, smiling. “You are,” he said, clearly pleased as he nestled against Aziraphale’s chest. “I love how warm you are.”

Aziraphale heard the whole sentence, but his heart stopped in his chest after the first two words. It took him a few extra seconds to reply. “You really are like a snake sometimes. And I’m your warm rock.”

“Perfect,” Crowley agreed, sleepily, missing the hesitation.

Aziraphale smiled. “It is perfect.” He scratched gently at Crowley’s scalp. “You know, I wanted to cry when they made you cut your hair.”

Crowley sighed. “Me too. I’d been growing it out over a year. Going to take another year. Ought to be illegal for them to have that much control.”

“I agree,” Aziraphale said. “I’m glad you want to grow it out again, though. I want to be able to touch it.”

“I won’t get to until I’m home again, angel,” Crowley reminded him. “I’m at the barber every two weeks now.”

“Right, but—you know, it’s not forever,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley was reminded again that Aziraphale actually wanted to continue their relationship past their return home—or at least he thought he did. A little bit of guilt swelled up in him, but he hid it by nuzzling his face against Aziraphale’s chest. “Yeah. Not forever,” he agreed. He felt a little wistful for Aziraphale. Maybe Aziraphale really would stick around. He just doubted it. Aziraphale seemed very worried about what his family thought, and Crowley wasn’t going to ask him to defy them for his sake. He wanted an out-and-proud life for Aziraphale, of course, but he would have to choose it for himself. Crowley would never force him to do it, he knew it would only foster resentment in the long run. It was too much to ask of anyone, least of all his sweet choir boy.

At least Aziraphale really was his for the time being, and he was going to cherish every minute. He knew damn well what a lucky bastard he was to have been chosen as Aziraphale’s oat-sowing fling.

Aziraphale had no idea that Crowley was thinking anything so angsty, and Crowley soon forgot, too, as Aziraphale kept scratching through his hair, melting his worries away. Funny how Aziraphale had that power somehow.

“Crowley? Did you fall asleep?”

Crowley only hummed in response. Close enough, really.

Aziraphale smiled and stilled his hand, settling back to fall asleep himself.


	10. Softness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend winds down and reality comes crashing back.

Saturday morning was much the same, only without the panic when Hastur woke them up. It was colder outside, so Crowley deemed it too cold for walking, but offered to drive if Aziraphale wanted to go out “now that the madness was over.”

Aziraphale was content to stay in for the morning, but suggested they see a movie in the afternoon since it seemed like Crowley was itching not to be inside all day.

After breakfast they went up to Crowley’s room, and Crowley watered his tiny plant and put music on, still trying to further Aziraphale’s pop culture education. Aziraphale was recognizing more songs as the months passed, and was fairly good at recognizing voices, too.

Crowley smiled over at Aziraphale, who was sitting properly in his desk chair like Crowley _never_ did. His room was organized, but he was a mess. “You have a favorite song yet? One that’s not a hymn?”

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “I’ll have to think it over,” he said. “I’m going to have to re-evaluate a lot of them, see if they hold up to actually having a beau.”

Crowley snorted. “Beau? Boyfriend, angel.”

“Are you really, though? Being nonbinary?”

Crowley lifted his head from his pillow to stare at Aziraphale. Somehow in the two days they’d been together, without Crowley even bringing it up, Aziraphale had put together the problem and brainstormed a perfectly elegant solution. “I—guess not,” he said, slowly, surprised. “I guess beau makes more sense...”

Aziraphale smiled. “It fits even on your more feminine days.”

Crowley nodded. “I—yeah—you just—I might have to kiss you now,” he said, getting up.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Oh? Is that so? Because I think I’d like to let you.”

Crowley made no pretense of doing anything otherwise, simply dropped onto Aziraphale’s lap, straddling him and pressing close. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him as Crowley brought his lips to Aziraphale’s and kissed him slow and dirty.

Aziraphale was as responsive as ever, groaning softly, fingers grasping at the back of Crowley’s sweater.

Crowley rested his forearms against Aziraphale’s chest, tracing delicate fingertips along his throat. Aziraphale shivered under him, exactly as he’d hoped.

Aziraphale arched up, wanting every inch of his body to somehow be _closer closer closer_ , so Crowley let his hands wander. He slid his palms down along Aziraphale’s arms—sturdier than he once would’ve imagined, and he wondered how strong Aziraphale might be under the sweater. When he slid his hands back up he rested them on Aziraphale’s chest, and half thought he could feel Aziraphale’s heart beating. Surely he was imagining that, though.

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s sweater and broke the kiss so he could move his lips to Crowley’s neck instead, tasting his skin, leaving soft pink marks that would fade. Crowley tipped his head and grasped a little tighter, softly moaning.

“Oh—“ Aziraphale paused, blushing. “Too much?”

Crowley chuckled softly. “I’ve done more than this, angel.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Of course.”

Crowley tilted Aziraphale’s chin up. “I don’t expect anything of you, angel. Surely I don’t have to explain to you about consent and being ready and—I mean, it’s not off the table, but you tell me, all right? If you want to explore.”

Aziraphale stared up at him, brain short-circuiting. Sex with Crowley still seemed like a wild fantasy, an impossible dream, and here Crowley was just telling him they could try it. Anytime. If he asked.

Crowley tilted his head. “Angel?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I—“

“You’re not ready, we barely got together two days ago, you need to think about it...?” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale nodded swiftly.

“All perfectly valid,” Crowley said. “If all we ever do is kiss, it’s all right. You’re good at kissing. I’ll wank when we’re apart.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Blue balls are a myth, by the way.” Aziraphale flushed absolutely scarlet, and Crowley chuckled. “Just saying! Don’t ever let any asshole pressure you for something you’re not into.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I’ll think it over. But you’re my first boyfriend and...”

Crowley nodded. “If you cross that line you’re always not a virgin, no matter how much you pray it away.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You understand.”

“I mean, no, not really,” Crowley said. “I say bring on the debauchery. But I’ve heard the logic before. And it’s your body, and you’re my sweet choir boy boyfriend, and I won’t violate you or your trust or anything. I don’t want anything that isn’t freely given.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I don’t think I could ask for anyone better.”

Crowley grinned. “Mmm.” He squirmed a little, rolling his hips down. “I don’t know if that’s true. You could do better. But I don’t want you to. I would be so goddamn jealous.”

Aziraphale shivered. “Over me?”

Crowley nodded seriously. “Gorgeous sweet choir boy...”

“I can’t sing.”

“Shh. I’m picturing you in the robes. Easy access,” he teased.

“You know people wear their clothes under choir ro—“

“Shhhh!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kissed Crowley instead, hands wandering his back again, never dipping below the belt, though. He felt absolutely safe, after what Crowley said. The ball was in his court, and he trusted Crowley to listen if he said no.

Not that he was in the mood for that, exactly. When Crowley started kissing at his throat, he whimpered softly, and then asked—

“Can we lay on your bed?”

It was Crowley’s turn to freeze. “Angel?”

“I just mean...with clothes still on, Crowley. Not sex. But I want to stretch out. Maybe...lay on you, like you did on me?” Aziraphale asked, hesitantly.

Crowley jumped up off Aziraphale’s lap, and for half a second Aziraphale was afraid he’d scared him off somehow, but then Crowley was taking his hands and helping him up. Crowley got onto the bed and slithered towards the wall, and patted the space in front of himself invitingly.

Aziraphale sat down, and Crowley laid on his back. Aziraphale hesitated, but then he moved closer, and straddled Crowley’s leg. “Is this okay?”

“We were just touching—“

“No, I mean—am I too heavy?” Aziraphale asked, shyly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Aziraphale. Angel. You’re not exactly—it’s not like you’re a walrus or something. And I’m a beanpole but I’m hardly fragile. I promise, it’s not a thing you need to worry about at all. You’re _gorgeous_ and you’re not going to hurt me.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, but before he could argue, Crowley flipped them over, tossing Aziraphale onto his back easily, and Crowley pushed his shirts up, exposing Aziraphale’s belly. He paused, giving Aziraphale a chance to protest, and when he didn’t, Crowley bent and pressed kisses to Aziraphale’s skin. “Soft,” Crowley murmured. “ _Ssssssoft_.” He nipped lightly and nuzzled his cheek against him. “Warm and _soft_.”

Aziraphale reached down and stroked his cheek. “You really—“

“ _Yes_ , Aziraphale. Stop trying to decide what I find attractive.” Crowley closed his eyes with a grin. “Any chance I can take your shirt all the way off?”

Aziraphale gasped. “I—no—?”

Crowley shrugged. “Okay, angel. Not too fast then. It’s okay.” He slipped upwards so he could nuzzle at Aziraphale’s neck. “Still comfortable?”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “Yes. You’re good to me.”

“I’m showing you basic decency, no need to get all verklempt about that.”

“I chose well,” Aziraphale said, simply.

Crowley chuckled. “We could go round and round with that for days. I disagree.”

“We could also just make out more,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could hardly resist an invitation like that.

Aziraphale wasn’t willing to lose layers, but he _was_ willing to press together, roll around, and kiss everywhere from the neck up, which was more than enough for Crowley. Aziraphale’s happy little sighs and moans sent a thrill through him, and he didn’t want to stop.

By the time they decided they had to leave the house to make it to the movie, they were both looking considerably rumpled. Crowley left it, not minding that his hair was wild, pleased to have a pink mark showing on his neck. Aziraphale wasn’t so bold, he insisted on brushing his hair to normal fluffiness before they left.

Settled in their seats, Crowley pushed up the armrest between them. “What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley draped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and settled his fingers on his arm. Aziraphale smiled and blushed, snuggling closer. They were in public, sure, but it was dark. Nobody was paying attention. Aziraphale felt entirely too warm and fuzzy inside to bear being anywhere else.

Aziraphale barely noticed the movie. He was just too happy, cozied up with Crowley.

Being held by Crowley brought him a joy he’d never gotten from religion, he realized, not without guilt—but not enough guilt to stop.

He wondered, idly, if there wasn’t a far worse sin in being unhappy and choosing not to do anything about it. It sounded blasphemous, but also—would a good, merciful God create beings just to doom them to unhappiness? Why set up the rules in such a way that it would be impossible for some people to win, when you had the power to do anything at all? A God that would do that had no business calling Himself “loving.” Crowley had a point, Aziraphale had decided, and he was going to follow happiness.

Crowley was more than willing to provide, too. He’d never come by a relationship this way, being a friend first. Usually it was just two attractive people scratching the itch of attraction until they annoyed each other back out of the attraction. None of them had meant very much to him, but Aziraphale was a totally different story.

He tried not to think about April.

It was kind of easy, with his arm wrapped around Aziraphale.

Afterward, Aziraphale didn’t want to go back to the house just yet. “Shall we go to the arcade again?” he suggested.

Crowley lit up. “Yes? Please?” he said, practically wriggling with excitement. This time he could win a gift for Aziraphale, his _boyfriend_ who’d won him a ring once—that he wore nearly every minute they weren’t at school. (He worried about it getting confiscated and not getting it back.)

Aziraphale grinned back at him. “Yes!”

This time was even more fun, with none of the pining that had secretly been plaguing both of them before. Crowley dragged Aziraphale into the photo booth and dared to kiss him all over his face and get two sets of prints made. He was going to treasure the pictures and the ring long after Aziraphale was gone, he decided.

Aziraphale had no such depressing thoughts, he only had a good time playing the games with Crowley, even when he wasn’t winning. It felt like everything he’d ever known was wrong, but instead of being disorienting, it was euphoric. The life that was behind him had been sad and frustrating at best, and often it was worse. Right now the future looked bright and shiny and happy—he’d never found himself looking forward to his own life like that, just to the books he’d get to read as part of the life he’d planned to settle for.

Plans change.

They split the tickets again, and Crowley looked over everything carefully before choosing a small stuffed dragon for Aziraphale. It was soft and snuggly, but still appropriately badass, not some lame fluffy thing like a stupid bear or whatever.

He presented it to Aziraphale once they were tucked away in his car, safe and alone. Aziraphale was delighted and hugged it to his chest. “I love him! I’ll name him...” He thought about it for a moment. “Puck!”

Crowley chuckled. “Like from Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, exactly. He’ll be something for me to hug when I go to sleep. After tonight.”

Crowley winced a little. “Gonna miss me, then?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. Sleeping with you might be the most comforting thing I’ve ever done. Waking up in the night and not being alone...”

Crowley failed to fight his blush, and he was grateful it was dark out by then. He liked it, too, and he already knew the next night was going to be rough sleep. “Yeah. I like it too, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded. “We have tonight at least.”

Crowley smiled. “Not even gonna try and pretend like we won’t do it? Good.” He pulled out of their parking spot and headed home.

Back at the house they both went ahead and got into pajamas, even though it was still early. Hastur just shook his head at them and got out of their way. “Bloody adorable,” he muttered.

They were, they were both bouncy and energetic and _happy_. Aziraphale set about baking a batch of cookies, with Crowley’s help—or at least Crowley’s trying to sneak bites of the dough. Aziraphale batted him away gently and didn’t fight him too hard, and Crowley atoned for his sin with sweet kisses.

When the first batch came out of the oven, they settled in front of the TV—Netflix this time so they could pause it when Aziraphale needed to switch the batches—and Crowley put on The Princess Bride while they ate warm cookies and cold milk. “This isn’t scary but it’s a classic and If you haven’t seen it that’s a _tragedy_.”

“You know I haven’t,” Aziraphale said, drily.

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah. I know. Not the only tragedy of your upbringing. But you’re setting it all to rights now, with my help.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek and dunked another cookie.

By the time the movie was done, Aziraphale was laying with his head on Crowley’s lap, Crowley stroking slender fingers through dandelion fluff. “I like this one a lot,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course, everyone loves this movie,” Crowley said. “It’s one of the finest movies ever made.”

Aziraphale yawned softly. “Mmm. Yeah. Not even death can stop true love...” he murmured.

“Sentimental bastard,” Crowley said, affectionately.

“You are too,” Aziraphale said. “Can we watch one more?”

“It’s not that late, we could watch two,” Crowley said.

“No, we have to get up early,” Aziraphale said. “You have to take me back in time for morning Mass.”

Crowley groaned. “Fuck, can’t you skip it?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You can only get out of it if you can prove you went to Mass somewhere else,” he reminded Crowley. “So I would have to go elsewhere. Not much point.”

Crowley huffed a little. “And if you skip it altogether?”

“They call my parents,” Aziraphale said. “Or probably email in my case, but the last thing I need is them knowing what I’ve been up to.”

“Oh, all right, fine,” Crowley said. “I’ll take you back. But I’m not getting out of these pajamas and you have to wake me up.”

“All right.” Aziraphale got his phone and made sure it was hooked up to the charger, and set alarms for himself. “Pick one more movie?” he asked, as he settled back down, snuggling up to Crowley’s side.

Crowley kissed his hair. “Sure.” He did pick a scary one this time, one that had Aziraphale trembling and burying his face against Crowley’s shoulder—then lifting one eye to peek anyway.

“I don’t know if I can go to sleep after that!” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. “Just lay down, I bet you will,” he said, as he powered down the TV and turned off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.

Aziraphale stretched out on the couch, and this time, instead of in his lap, Crowley laid down with him, taking up the whole couch with as tall as he was, pinning Aziraphale to the back of the couch.

Aziraphale didn’t mind, even though he gasped in surprise as Crowley slid an arm around him.

“Too much?” Crowley asked, tugging the blanket over him.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “N-no...”

Crowley hesitated. “Angel, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable...but we are just sleeping. It’s not...are you sure you’re all right?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Just sleeping.” He helped Crowley fluff the blanket over them, making sure their feet were covered. Crowley pulled his knees up, tangling their legs together, and he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “Good night, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, nuzzling up to his neck. “Good night.”

* * *

There was much groaning when Aziraphale’s alarm went off and they had to disentangle. Aziraphale got up, though, and left Crowley to sleep a little longer while he showered and got ready, and sadly packed up all his things.

He didn’t want to leave. The idea of having to go back and sleep alone tugged on his heartstrings. It was only one day without Crowley, he reminded himself, but it did nothing to ease the ache.

He scolded himself a little for being a dramatic teenager, and got his bag to go downstairs and wake Crowley.

He knelt and kissed Crowley’s temple, which woke the other boy enough to make him roll over and face Aziraphale. “We need to go soon,” Aziraphale whispered. “I thought I’d make some quick toast, just a nibble, we can eat in the car?”

Crowley grumbled and pouted but he got up with a grumpy noise of affirmation.

They got in the car some fifteen minutes later, Crowley with a sweater and a hoodie over his pajamas, Aziraphale neatly dressed in a suit. Crowley hunkered over the steering wheel, but he begrudgingly ate a piece of toast, just because Aziraphale had made it.

He pulled over a block away from campus.

“Crowley?”

Crowley leaned over and kissed Aziraphale softly. “Won’t be able to do that again until tomorrow,” he muttered, his first coherent sentence of the day. “And probably not until after class.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. There won’t be any leaving once you drop me off.” He smiled. “You had better kiss me again.”

Crowley unbuckled so he could scoot a little closer and wrap his arms around Aziraphale for a proper, clingy goodbye kiss.

Aziraphale’s lips were still tingling after Crowley dropped him at the dorms and he’d made his way to the chapel.

Mass was rote and boring for him at the best of times, but as his mind kept wandering back to the best three days of his life, he had a nagging feeling that he was never going to get anything out of church again.

* * *

When Aziraphale’s family Skyped that afternoon, he made no mention at all of leaving campus. It was hard enough concentrating on staying present in the conversation when it felt like every hickey under his shirt was burning and glowing and giving him away, but they didn’t seem to suspect.

“It sounds like you’ve had a good rest,” his mother said. “You seem in a good mood. I hope that continues when you get back into class tomorrow, all that energy to put into working hard and focusing.”

Tomorrow, when he’d be seeing Crowley first thing at assembly. “I’m sure it will,” Aziraphale assured her. “I’m working very hard.” Following all the rules and keeping up his grades meant more time with Crowley. “And the semester is nearly done, now. Just four more weeks, and the last one is finals.” And then Christmas, and New Year’s, and all new classes, hopefully more of which he’d share with Crowley.

“See that you do well on those,” she said. “We didn’t send you over there for a holiday.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, Mother, I know, I promise.”

He was more than relieved to hang up with her and text Crowley instead, passing the time until he had evening Mass.

* * *

“You’re whistling,” Gabriel informed Aziraphale, as he was getting into bed.

Aziraphale was still tidying a few things before he got under the covers. “Was I?”

Gabriel frowned at him. “You were. And your phone never seemed to stop.” Crowley had been sending Aziraphale funny pictures and jokes, trying to keep him cheered up on a difficult day.

“I was texting a friend,” Aziraphale defended. His phone was nearly out of battery, and he plugged it up before sitting on his bed. He set his morning alarms and snuggled into the blankets, wishing deeply that it was Crowley instead of Gabriel in the room with him.

“A girlfriend?” Gabriel asked.

“Oh, no, I—“ Aziraphale blushed. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Gabriel gave him a look that said he knew exactly what was going on—but he didn’t. “So you _want_ her to be your girlfriend?”

“Nooo...” Aziraphale said, unconvincingly, frowning.

Gabriel chuckled. “Right. Well. Good for you!” he said, condescendingly. “About time you looked up from a book for once.”

Aziraphale’s phone buzzed and he hurried to grab it. “Good night, Gabriel,” he said, with a tone of what he hoped was finality.

Gabriel rolled away and left him alone, and Aziraphale was grateful, because it was a goodnight text from Crowley that left him smiling and blushing.

[It feels like it’s been days, not hours. Sundays always have been the worst. And I don’t think I’m going to sleep well. I can’t wait to see you in the morning. Goodnight, angel.]

[I’ll dream of you. Goodnight, Crowley.]


	11. Rumor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale raises suspicions, Crowley tries to dispel them, and Aziraphale's parents get another email.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration made by me ^_^

Seeing each other in the morning was its own strange kind of torture. They got to look at each other, say hello, have a moment of quiet conversation while they waited for assembly to begin, but they couldn’t touch, couldn’t share a kiss, couldn’t even exchange a few words that would confirm that the whole magical weekend had been real.

Once assembly started, Crowley very cautiously slid his hand over and laid his pinkie on top of Aziraphale’s. It was barely a touch, hidden from nearly everyone’s view, but it still made Aziraphale nervous. After a few moments of no one noticing, though, it made him smile like the sun rising.

They didn’t get to talk much before having to scurry to class.

Aziraphale didn’t do anything differently. He was a creature of habit, a routine follower for the most part.

Everyone noticed the change in him.

“My goodness, you’re smiley today,” Sister Michael told him.

Aziraphale blushed a little. “I had a good vacation,” he said. “Nice, I mean. Restful.”

She nodded. “Certainly seems like it.”

Aziraphale didn’t want to get into the why. “Right. Well—good day!” He waved and darted away before the interrogation could begin.

* * *

By Tuesday afternoon the rumor mill had taken what little it had to go on and turned it into a full story.

No girlfriend, fussy mannerisms? Surely Fell _must_ be gay. The whispers had gone around all year, now suddenly exacerbated, because if he was suddenly _happy_? He must’ve found a boyfriend.

If Aziraphale had been friendless before, he was practically ostracized now. None of the good Catholic boys—or even the bad Catholic boys—wanted to catch the gay.

Aziraphale barely noticed. He’d only had eyes for Crowley from the moment they’d met anyway, and whether anyone else was avoiding him barely registered in his mind.

Crowley sat down across from him at their usual lunch table with a frown. “Angel,” he started, then thought better of it. He lowered his voice. “Aziraphale.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, distractedly unpacking their lunch.

“We have a problem. Er. You. You have a problem.”

Aziraphale looked up with a raised eyebrow, waiting to hear what it was. He couldn’t think of any problems, up on cloud nine.

Crowley sighed. “Everyone’s saying you must’ve gotten a boyfriend.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That’s ridiculous, why would anyone—“

“You just give off the vibe, okay?” Crowley snapped. “You came back all twitterpated and people...jumped to conclusions. Gabriel won’t shut up about it for one.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Oh—he saw me texting you—he was asking if I had a girlfriend and I told him no—“

Crowley put his face in both hands. “You should’ve told him yes.” He sighed. “I mean, it would’ve been as accurate as boyfriend...”

Aziraphale sucked a breath in over his teeth. It was such a good idea, in retrospect. “Oh... _bother_.”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he lifted his head. “I mean, I think you can justifiably swear now. But yeah. Nobody seems to have realized, you know...”

“Who it is?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. “Exactly.” Somehow the fact that they spent all their free time together had escaped the rest of the student body, or maybe they’d just believed Crowley when he’d said they were only friends, and that if Fell had a boyfriend it was news to him. Crowley was a much more experienced liar—and he was a little annoyed that this was the one time he was actually believed, when he was covering up something that shouldn’t rightly have to be a secret.

Aziraphale had to wonder if it meant Crowley wasn’t quite so...twitterpated. Aziraphale had been trying to keep quiet, and surely Crowley wasn’t so invested in keeping his sexuality secret. It worried him.

Crowley sighed. “It figures. I don’t do something and I get in trouble. I _do_ do something and the blame gets put elsewhere.”

Aziraphale nodded. “It isn’t fair...do you think I’ll be in trouble?”

“I’m not sure if they legally can get you in trouble unless you’re...I don’t know, canoodling or whatever, on school grounds, and even then...” Crowley wavered a hand. “Sounds like shaky ground to me. But...your family...”

Aziraphale winced. “They’ll be so angry.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. Aziraphale was probably going to break up with him, he suddenly realized.

“But I think they’ll believe me,” Aziraphale was continuing. “They—they always have. I always told them the truth growing up and—and they can’t fathom that I would’ve stopped—“

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Stopped?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I haven’t been very truthful with them lately,” he admitted. “I told them next to nothing about the weekend...and I may have told them...you’re buckling down, studying, trying to make something of yourself here...”

Crowley frowned. “What, I’m not good enough to be your friend—“

“You are, but you’re not good enough for _their_ holier-than-thou standards and so I told them what I had to, so they wouldn’t forbid me to see you,” Aziraphale said, nearly panicking. Would Crowley break up with him over something like that? He’d never exactly seemed fond of Aziraphale’s parents and maybe he would be angry that Aziraphale hadn’t painted him accurately to them.

Crowley paused, mouth open. “Oh. Oh, I—well. That’s all right then, I guess.” He nodded. “If that’s what you had to say.”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah. It—I obviously can’t tell them—“

Crowley nodded. “I understand.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It only came up because the teachers emailed them. Tattled. Said I was running around with some ‘delinquent,’” he explained, making air quotes. “I can’t have them getting an email saying I’m—that I have—“

Crowley held up a hand. “We need to quash this rumor, is what you’re saying.”

Aziraphale nodded, suddenly near tears.

Crowley held up his hands. “Now don’t panic,” he said. “Listen. If you can fabricate things for them, you can do it for everyone else. Start talking up your girlfriend,” he said.

“But—but I haven’t got—“

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Of course. But we’ll find you one.” He slid his glasses down to give Aziraphale a wink.

Aziraphale tilted his head, while the idea processed. “You—we— _oh_ ,” he suddenly realized.

Crowley grinned, looking even more snakelike than usual. “You’ll see her Friday.”

* * *

It took a little more doing than Crowley would’ve liked, but all in all, he was proud of the result.

All week, Aziraphale talked about his girlfriend anytime he could work the topic into a conversation naturally. On Friday the two of them made a fairly big scene of Aziraphale’s _not_ hanging out with Crowley. “I’ll have to see you another time,” Aziraphale said. “I have a _date_ tonight. You understand.”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows a bit. “Yeah, course,” he agreed. “Hope she’s hot.”

“She’s _beautiful_ ,” Aziraphale corrected. He hoped it was true, he hadn’t actually seen her yet.

Crowley went home alone.

When he came back on the bus later—he couldn’t well be seen driving his car—he was a woman transformed.

He’d put in colored contacts, tinting his eyes to a much more common shade of brown than his own oddly golden, and done his makeup, contouring himself to look as feminine as possible, to play down the sharp angles of his face. He’d done a deep, smoky, purple eye look, with eyeliner thick enough to make his eyes look a different shape, too. He had long, pointed nails on—stick-ons—in a deep, blood-like shade.

The wig had been the hard part. Finding one that didn’t look like shit wasn’t easy, and he’d had to ask Aziraphale to pay for it, but Aziraphale didn’t mind—if it worked, this plan was saving his neck. Crowley had to fight the temptation to brush the black bangs out of his face, because it was the most powerful thing altering the shape of his face.

His little black dress was simple, to the knee, long sleeves, neckline high enough to hide the bra that was padded just enough to complete the illusion—normally he didn’t bother disguising his flat chest, but that was the point this time. It was a _disguise_ , not just his presentation for the day.

Altogether, Crowley felt like Clark Kent. He barely recognized _himself_ in the mirror when it was all done.

It took Aziraphale a moment, too, and it was only when he realized that the goth girl coming off the bus was headed straight his way that he recognized Crowley. “Darling!”  
  


Crowley smiled at him. “Sunshine!” he said, trying to pitch his voice up just a little. There were enough fellow students milling around—mostly heading off campus—that they were definitely seen. Crowley moved in for a quick kiss. “I missed you!”

Aziraphale grinned and took his hand—her hand, for now. “Oh, I missed you too, it’s been such a long week,” he said. They hurried to get back on the bus before it drove away again, and settled into a seat together near the front, where they’d be highly visible—and they leaned into it. Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley’s shoulders, and Crowley practically cooed.

The whispers among their fellow students were instantaneous. They didn’t have to talk to any of them, but the two of them were spotted several times—together at the movie theater, having dinner at a popular teenage date-night spot, strolling hand-in-hand back to catch the bus to campus.

They’d had a perfectly lovely time. They hadn’t had to fake any of it. And the rumor had been easily, quietly quelched. 

Gabriel rolled up in his car while they were waiting for the bus. “Fell!”

Aziraphale put a protective arm around Crowley. “Harper,” he said, a bit coolly.

“Who’s this?” Gabriel demanded.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, then to Gabriel. “This is my girlfriend, Ash,” he said. “Ash, sweetheart, this is Gabriel Harper. My roommate. I’ve told you about him.” His tone dripped with implied disdain, and Gabriel failed to pick up on it, but Crowley smiled a bit.

Gabriel tilted his head, taking in Crowley’s appearance. He wondered if Aziraphale liked them tall or if he was just too short to have options otherwise, and then shrugged it off. “Nice to meet you...Ash...” He leaned across the seat and offered his hand.

Crowley raised an eyebrow but shook limply. “Short for Ashtoreth,” he said, smirking a bit as he pulled back. “Lovely, I’m sure.”

“How’d you find the _third_ British person in town?” Gabriel asked Aziraphale.

“We knew each other in London,” Aziraphale said. “I talked her into coming over for the year. And she only just agreed to be my girlfriend.”

“Do you go to Holy Cross, then?” Gabriel asked, referring to St. Bernadette’s all-girls sister school.

Crowley laughed. “Heavens no. Public school. Where they have real sports.”

Gabriel was wounded right in his lacrosse-captain pride, just as Crowley, who didn’t care a bit for sports, intended. “Right. Well. Good night.” He zoomed away before either of them could respond.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “At least he didn’t offer us a ride,” he said. “I thought we might end up trapped in a car with him.”

Aziraphale winced. “Thank goodness.” He shook his head to get rid of the feeling of sliminess Gabriel had left behind like a slug. “I think he bought it.”

Crowley grinned. “Course he did. I’m beautiful.”

“You were beautiful anyway,” Aziraphale said. “Though I must admit you in skirts...really does something for me.”

Crowley shook his hips a little. “Yeah. Noticed your hand on my thigh in the movie, dear.”

Aziraphale blushed. “I only—we had to put our hands _somewhere_ —“

“Not mad. Not mad a bit,” Crowley said, as the bus finally approached.

They sat in the back on the return trip, this time wearing Crowley’s lipstick off in the most delightful way. Aziraphale liked the taste of it.

He left Crowley on the bus when they got back to school. “Be safe. Text me when you get home,” he said.

“Like I won’t be texting you the whole way there.”

Aziraphale had to hurry off, to make curfew, before the bus drove away.

Gabriel was waiting in their room. “I thought you didn’t want a girlfriend.”

Aziraphale startled and had to take a step back. “Oh—sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Well. What I meant was I didn’t want anyone but Ashtoreth. I would’ve been quite upset if you’d tried to fix me up with someone.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “None of my lady friends would go out with you, Fell.”

Aziraphale shrugged as he took off his coat and hung it up, and started getting out the things he’d need for bed. “Well that hardly matters now that she’s mine, does it?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “A girl from _public school_.”

Aziraphale looked back at him. “ _Yes_. If your friends wouldn’t date me, doesn’t that rule out nearly all the Holy Cross girls anyway? And why wouldn’t I prefer a girl who’ll be able to come back to London with me at the end of the year?”

Gabriel frowned, puzzling it out. “Huh. I guess so.” He shook his head. “Just so long as you stick to the code of conduct, I guess.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine we’d do anything against that,” Aziraphale said. At least not outside the privacy of Crowley’s bedroom, if ever, unless one was counting inside Aziraphale’s mind.

“You were holding her awfully tight,” Gabriel said. “Just watch yourself.”

“Right.” Aziraphale wondered if maybe he shouldn’t reread that bit of the student handbook. Romance had been so far from his mind that he’d skimmed it at best.

His phone buzzed with (another) text from Crowley, and he hurried off to the bathroom to change and reply to him.

[Sending death glares to this pervert on the bus. Being a woman kind of sucks]

Aziraphale sighed. [Wish I was there to help. Do you remember anything from the code of conduct regarding opposite-sex contact?]

[Not exactly, something something precious flower something something stay nerds something reputation, go team]

[You’re incorrigible.]

[And that’s why you like me so much, darling]

[You’re not wrong but we may have to watch ourselves a bit more next time.]

[Next time is you and me in my room tomorrow, and the only rule is consent]

Aziraphale shivered at the thought. [I have to go back to my room. I’ll have to keep quiet until Gabriel goes to sleep. You know.] Crowley did know, they’d been over it before.

Thankfully Gabriel seemed to be settling into his bed for the night, and Aziraphale followed suit, laying with his back to him. When the silence had gone on long enough, Aziraphale looked at the reply.

[He can bugger off. You can text your friend/girlfriend if you want]

[He thinks I’m texting my “girlfriend.”]

[So change my name to Ash in your phone, darling]

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered at the pet name, and he marveled at the simple solution. [Genius. I’ll do it now.]

[I am! Guess you’ll be going to sleep soon]

[I’m already in bed, yes, but I won’t sleep until you’re home.]

[Nearly there. I’m the last one on here thankfully]

Aziraphale smiled in relief, worried for Crowley. [Wonderful. I just want you to be safe.]

A few minutes later, Crowley replied. [Off the bus. Walking. I can nearly see the house]

[Wonderful. Just let me know when you’re inside. Don’t reply if it’s slowing you down.]

Sure enough, Crowley texted a few moments later. [All right, angel, I’m home. Get some sleep, Crowley will see you in the morning. Ish. Maybe noon]

[Text me when you wake up. Sweet dreams, dearheart.]

* * *

Saturday was business as usual—fun all day for Crowley and Aziraphale, with no supervision.

Sunday was terrible, as usual. Aziraphale gritted his teeth as he waited for his parents to call, wishing he didn’t have to answer—but of course that would cause panic and more trouble for him.

His mother, when he answered, got right down to business. “I got another email from your teacher!”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, he couldn’t imagine what he’d done that caught their attention _now_. “You did?”

“One of your teachers said she saw you _canoodling_ with some girl in too much makeup,” she said. “Some sort of _painted tart_.”

Ah yes. Crowley. The shameless hussy.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Well, I _do_ have a girlfriend, but I think she’s quite lovely, honestly—“

“You _what_?” his father cut in.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Have a beau,” he said. “A beautiful girlfriend—“

“What about the priesthood?!” his father demanded. “You’re supposed to be pure and chaste—“

“Have you _kissed_ her?” his mother mewled.

Aziraphale thought of Crowley, and how happy they were together, and found a bit of courage. “I have. And I’ll be kissing her again. I—I’m not going to be a priest, Father. Mother. I never wanted to.”

His parents exchanged a look. _At least it’s a girl. We might get grandchildren out of him yet. But their mother might be a harlot...and not Catholic!_ Aziraphale could plainly see all of it crossing their faces and was embarrassed at most of it.

“Why didn’t you tell us this, Aziraphale?” his father finally asked.

Aziraphale sighed. “I didn’t think you’d be happy about it.” Truth.

“We weren’t sure you wanted a family,” his mother said, and he knew this was the closest they were ever going to come to addressing his sexuality.

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. “Well—I—I think it’s a bit soon to consider anything like _that_ , I’ve barely been dating Ash—ten days—“ The ten happiest days he could ever remember, but even in his twitterpated state he knew thinking about a family with Crowley was beyond ridiculous.

“You weren’t going to tell us?” his mother asked, sharply.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, Mother...you don’t seem very happy to hear about it.”

She considered that. He had a point. They should be encouraging this sudden, surprise straightness. Still... “I do wonder what kind of girl she is—“

“She’s wonderful!” Aziraphale snapped. “She’s beautiful and smart and _funny_ , and she’s willing to get in trouble if it’s to save a friend. She’s very loyal. She’s not just—some girl using feminine wiles on me. She’s _good_.”

“The school does have a code of conduct,” his father pointed out.

Aziraphale nodded. “And of _course_ we’re adhering to that.” He was scrambling for straws to grasp at. “And she’s British, she’s not local, so she’ll be back in London next year too.”

His parents exchanged another look, and Aziraphale could see the thought that the problem wouldn’t go away neatly at the end of the school year. “Did you say her name is Ash?” his mother asked.

“Yes. Short for Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale said. “We both have a mouthful of a name,” he joked.

“Do you have a picture of her?” his mother asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “Er—yes.” He got his phone out to show his parents the selfie he and Crowley had taken on their date, in the warm, romantic light of the restaurant. He could still barely believe it was actually Crowley next to him in the booth.

“Tart,” his father said.

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that!” Aziraphale said.

“It _is_ rather a lot of makeup, Aziraphale,” his mother said, though it was no more than plenty of people their age wore.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I think she’s beautiful, with or without it.”

“Is she Catholic?” his father asked.

“Oh, no, she’s—“ Aziraphale could see the doom that spelled. “Lutheran,” he said.

“Well...” His mother sighed. “So long as you keep your grades up...”

“And stay chaste!” his father added. “Shouldn’t even be kissing her...” he muttered.

“I promise I won’t do anything untoward,” Aziraphale said, even though he already had. He was learning the subtle art of lying for his own safety. _Welcome to the closet_ , Crowley had said.

Finally the topic veered away to updating Aziraphale on his brothers, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was even more relieved when he finally got to hang up and text Crowley.

[One of the teachers told my parents about you, Ashtoreth.]

[So Operation Fake Straight is working?] Crowley replied, a few minutes later.

Aziraphale smiled. [I suppose so. I wish I could see you today.]

[Me too. Sundays suck bollocks]

[Oh! Don’t say that.]

[What? They do. I miss you. I’m bored. Sunday is basically no-kissing day and that sucks. Bollocks. Also you can’t tell me you’re enjoying church nowadays when you could be with me.]

[I keep telling you, you could come to Mass here. Relieve my misery.]

[So it’s misery now, is it?]

Crowley had a way of getting right under his skin like that. [It does all feel...rather pointless and repetitive.] He sighed. [It doesn’t seem to...help.]

[Help what, angel?]

[You know. Make people better people. Make them good. Make them behave any differently.] He thought ruefully of Gabriel’s many barbs at Crowley, none of which had made Crowley think any better of religion as an institution, to say nothing of Gabriel’s actual physical assaults.

[Right. People are fundamentally people. Not good nor bad. Church doesn’t change them, just kind of gives them a social framework to judge themselves against.]

Aziraphale sighed. [I suppose. But guess where I have to go right now.]

Crowley’s reply was a string of swears.


	12. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets the one thing Crowley wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter marks the halfway point of the story, chapters-wise. It's more like 55% through by word count lol. That's partly because this is the longest chapter, there just was not a good way to break this one into two.

December finally brought snow, which didn’t put Crowley in the best of moods. As much as he hated being cold, he hated being cold _and wet_ even more, so he and Aziraphale stuck even closer to home, and Crowley took to changing out of his uniform and into a jumper most days—more pleasant now that Aziraphale tended to touch him, anyway. The uniform had been a reminder to keep hands off, and still was during the school day.

Aziraphale liked it. Crowley felt more like himself when he wasn’t dressed like everyone else. In a turn of phrase Crowley would probably appreciate, it was almost as if the uniform was prison garb. He was excited for Crowley to get home, to grow his hair again, maybe get more tattoos—do whatever it was he dreamed of.

They sat huddled close in the chapel one morning during assembly. It was cold outside, snow blocking the light on the bottoms of the stained glass windows, and many of the students kept their coats on in the drafty chapel. Crowley, as usual, was mostly checked out, until near the end of announcements.

“...Joseph Harrison, Thursday the twelfth, and Aziraphale Fell, Saturday the fourteenth...”

Crowley looked sharply over at Aziraphale. “What about Saturday?” he whispered.

Aziraphale blushed a little. “Just my birthday,” he said, with a shrug of one shoulder.

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Weren’t you going to tell me?!” The student in front of them turned around with a frown, and Crowley stuck his tongue out at him. Before either could say anything, assembly was dismissed and they got caught in the rush to the door towards the class building. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him out of the rushing crowd. “Were you really just not going to say anything?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I probably would’ve mentioned it on Saturday...”

Crowley tipped his head back in frustration. “No. No. I don’t know what your family does for birthdays but we’re celebrating. I’m throwing you a party.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “A party? Who would you even invite?”

Crowley hesitated. “Right—well—no, not a party. But I’m taking you out.”

“We wouldn’t have gone out anyway?”

“I’m really amping it up, Aziraphale, all right? Just let me, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I can hardly say no when you call me that.”

Crowley grinned. “That’s better. I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

“I know.” The bell rang before Aziraphale could wax too poetic, and they both sprinted off to class.

* * *

On Saturday, Crowley actually got up early. He’d had to wheedle a little extra money from Hastur, but he’d managed to put together a birthday fit for his angel.

He slipped into the dorms and knocked softly on Aziraphale and Gabriel’s door. Gabriel had already been gone a while—he started every day with a run and didn’t return most of the day. After a moment with no answer, Crowley tested the knob and found it yielded, so he slipped the door open.

No Gabriel, one sleeping angel. He let himself in and locked the door behind himself, and he slipped over to Aziraphale’s bed.

He let himself just look, just for a moment, Aziraphale’s hair mussed and catching the sunlight almost like a real halo. He looked so happy and peaceful in his sleep, and Crowley half-wondered if he was dreaming of him. He smiled warmly and sat down, nestling close, and he leaned down to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he whispered.

Aziraphale blinked softly. “Who—Crowley?” he murmured, looking up and pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“Yeah, of course, angel,” Crowley whispered. “Happy birthday. How long until your roommate comes back?”

“Hours and hours,” Aziraphale said, and yawned. “He’s so busy...”

Crowley pulled away and Aziraphale whimpered, reaching out and tugging at the back of his coat. “Just a sec, angel, just taking my boots off,” Crowley murmured.

“What?”

“We have time. I’m here to pick you up, but you’re not ready to go...you just look so sleepy and angelic...how about I stay and cuddle with you for a bit? It’s your birthday and all...” Crowley murmured.

“Oh, in the bed?” Aziraphale murmured, scooting over to make more room for Crowley on the tiny bunk even as he protested.

Crowley shed his coat, too, and slipped under the blanket, back to Aziraphale’s front. Aziraphale wrapped his arm over him, pulling him against his chest a bit possessively.

“Happy birthday,” Crowley murmured again.

“Best birthday ever,” Aziraphale murmured, nuzzling against his neck.

“We haven’t even gotten started,” Crowley said.

“I never had a beau before,” Aziraphale said. “Much less one who wants to snuggle with me...”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah. This is nice,” he murmured. Aziraphale had a hand fisted in his sweater, like he wanted to hang on, like it would matter if Crowley decided to leave.

Crowley loved being _wanted_ like that. It made him feel like he mattered, and even if he only mattered to Aziraphale it made Crowley feel warm inside, all the way to every extremity, more than the blanket or thick socks or any sweater ever could.

Aziraphale dozed off lightly, and Crowley closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, too. Sleep was his favorite pastime—except for spending time with Aziraphale, and if he got to do both at once, that was all the sweeter. He’d dated before, but he had to admit that none of his relationships had actually been this romantic.

He wouldn’t admit how much more he liked it. He was too cool for that.

Aziraphale woke a few times only to stretch a little and then nuzzle close again. They napped together for maybe an hour before Aziraphale finally moved up so he could kiss Crowley’s cheek. “We should get up, sweetheart...”

Crowley grumbled softly. “Mmm. Yeah.” He rolled to face Aziraphale. “Happy birthday.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Thank you...just give me a few minutes? Get dressed and such?”

Crowley nodded. After Aziraphale got up he moved into the warm spot and pulled the blankets tightly around himself. Aziraphale moved about, getting dressed and ready—Crowley went back to sleep so easily he didn’t bother leaving the room to change. When he was ready he leaned over Crowley to press kisses to his cheek and neck. It tickled, and Crowley giggled. “Angel!”

Aziraphale smiled. “Let’s go, dear, we have much more freedom at your house.”

Crowley turned his head and pulled Aziraphale down for a sweet kiss. “All right, all right...” he murmured, bumping his nose against Aziraphale’s. He got up and put his coat and boots back on, but he couldn’t help but watch Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale, still rosy from sleep, always beautiful, so soft—and so gentle, always treating Crowley like an absolute prince.

Crowley smiled warmly up at him. He was in love with Aziraphale. He just didn’t know it yet, much like Aziraphale hadn’t realized his feelings were a crush until long after they were friends, but he loved him all the same. “Are you ready?” he asked. “There’s breakfast at my house...”

Aziraphale nodded. “Almost. I think I require a kiss.”

Crowley stood and nudged Aziraphale against the wall as he bent to kiss him, wrapping an arm around him to keep their bodies pressed together. Aziraphale let out a happy little gasp, arching up under him, sliding his arms around Crowley’s neck, grateful they were on the second floor and safe from getting spotted together like that.

They only lingered on the lips for a few moments before Crowley was kissing down Aziraphale’s neck, teasing with tongue, just enough to have Aziraphale groaning softly and not leave marks behind. Too risky, even light ones. Still, Crowley loved drawing the pleasured sounds out of him, knowing that he was the only one who’d ever heard them, that Aziraphale had sown some wild oats and this was the flower.

Aziraphale grasped at Crowley’s sweater, fingers curling tightly. They were never going to leave at this rate—the wild thought flashed through Aziraphale’s mind of getting back on the bed with Crowley, of letting him—

No. Too soon. And Aziraphale didn’t want to _let him_ , to be passive. He wanted to be an equal part of it. Just—not yet.

Crowley had his hands at Aziraphale’s waist, and he slipped them up, under Aziraphale’s sweater, only to find himself blocked by the button-down underneath. Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley...”

“Just wanna touch you, angel,” Crowley murmured. “Not—just skin, not—“

“We should go,” Aziraphale murmured. “Maybe later.”

Crowley pulled back with a grin. “Maybe later?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Your house. Safer. Maybe I could lose a layer...”

Crowley perked up at the sound of that. “Let’s go, then!” He took Aziraphale’s hand to lead the way, but remembered as he put his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, right.” He dropped Aziraphale’s hand with a sigh. “C’mon, angel.”

Aziraphale followed him down to the car, and they behaved themselves the entire way to Crowley’s house, where Aziraphale stopped him before they got out, for another kiss.

Inside, Crowley cooked breakfast—pancakes. “I watched a tutorial!” he told Aziraphale, who was absolutely delighted with the results. “This cooking stuff isn’t as mystical as I always thought.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I’m glad I’ve helped,” he said. “You’ve really improved!”

Crowley beamed. “Yeah, I have. You’re a good teacher. Now maybe when I’m on my own I won’t have to live on ramen.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Hopefully not.”

After breakfast they wound up in Crowley’s room, and on the bed, but considerably more awake this time.

“You’re _sure_ we won’t get in trouble?” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley had him pinned and was straddling one of his thighs, and his hips were moving just enough that there was no hiding how affected either of them were.

“I locked the door, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, patiently. “Do you _want_ to stop?”

“No!” Aziraphale assured him.

“We’re safe here,” Crowley said. “Just—relax, angel, all I want to do is make you feel good.”

Aziraphale reached up and stroked Crowley’s cheek. “I know, I just—“

“You’re scared,” Crowley said. “I’m not going to cross your boundaries, angel. No one’s going to punish us. No one’s _watching_. Just—enjoy yourself, all right?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I—it’s just hard, after—“

Crowley cut him off with a roll of his hips, pressing himself against Aziraphale. “I can _tell_ , darling.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Feels good—“

Crowley nodded. “I _know_ , angel, it feels good for me, too. And I love seeing you like this, except for the anxiety.”

“I don’t want to—you know...”

Crowley paused. “No, tell me,” he said. “Or I won’t know.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t want to...climax.”

Crowley nodded. “So less of this?” he asked, grinding his hips down.

“Yes—no—just—“

Crowley laughed. “A little, but not enough to make you come?”

“...right,” Aziraphale agreed.

“I can do that,” Crowley promised. “So what was that about losing a layer? Put any more thought into that?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and nodded. “All right.” Crowley sat up, and Aziraphale started pulling his sweater over his head. Crowley helped him tug it off and he put it gently on his desk. He ran his hands up Aziraphale’s stomach and chest as he stretched over him again, and leaned down to kiss at his neck.

Aziraphale reached between them and unfastened the top two buttons of his button-down.

“Ooh—“ Crowley trailed kisses down to the crook of his neck. “Gorgeous, angel...”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, gasping softly, arching his body up. “Crowley—“ He curled a hand into Crowley’s hair, lamenting the haircut all over again.

Crowley chuckled warmly. “You’re so _responsive_...it’s fucking sexy, angel...”

Aziraphale could only groan in reply as Crowley’s tongue dipped to trace his collarbone. Crowley said to relax, and the tingle of pleasure went a long way to help him with that. He tentatively rolled his hips up and Crowley groaned happily.

Crowley undid another two buttons and slipped his hand up to touch Aziraphale’s chest, only to find he was wearing an undershirt, too. “Damn, no wonder you’re so warm...”

“I’m warm in the summer, too,” Aziraphale protested. “I just _am_.”

“Mmm. Well maybe instead of losing one layer you should lose _all but one_ layer,” Crowley suggested. “Just wanna see more of your pretty, smooth skin...wanna touch, angel,” he begged.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and considered. “I will if you will.”

Crowley didn’t have to think twice, his sweater gone before Aziraphale could think at all, leaving him in a ribbed black tank top that stretched a little across his chest and clung in folds across his stomach. Aziraphale’s only disappointment was that the bottom of it disappeared into Crowley’s jeans, keeping his hipbones covered.

“Your turn,” Crowley finally drawled, crossing his arms.

Aziraphale moved his hands to his buttons, undoing them slowly. He had on basically the same thing underneath, only stark, crisp white.

“Gorgeous,” Crowley said, before Aziraphale had a chance to even think about getting self-conscious. “Angel...” He tugged a strap aside so he could kiss his way across Aziraphale’s collarbone.

Aziraphale laid back and pulled Crowley down with him, everything dragging together and sending sparks along every nerve. “Crowley...” he whispered, running his hands along Crowley’s bare arms. He nearly wanted to tug Crowley’s tank off, but then he’d be expected to shed his own and he wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Crowley didn’t mind at all, he counted himself lucky to have gotten that far. He nuzzled under Aziraphale’s neck. “So gorgeous,” he murmured. “You’re so—so warm—beautiful—“

“You’re _breathtaking_ ,” Aziraphale told him. “I never dreamed I’d have a beau like _you_. So _gorgeous_ , so _wonderful_...”

And then Crowley ended up being self-conscious. “Oh, angel...”

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s true. You’re not just gorgeous, you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen. Movie stars included. And you like _me_ somehow?”

Crowley blushed brightly. “And you thought you deserved less than that?”

“Just didn’t think a perfect ten would come down to my level,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley tsk’d. “I’m a seven at best if you factor in personality,” he said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “My perfect ten.”

“Well—angel—you too,” Crowley said. “I know your family and stuff have made you feel like shit, but you’re sweet. Gorgeous. Smart—and clever, it’s not the same thing. And funny. You’re the ten here, all right? I’m definitely rising if we’re on the same level.”

Aziraphale could’ve argued. Instead he tipped his head up and kissed Crowley, slow and luxurious, parting his lips for him. It only took a moment before they were back to exploring each other, skin sliding together, grinding lazily against each other.

Aziraphale rolled them over after a while, so he was on top, and pressed kisses to Crowley’s chest. He used the tip of his tongue to connect the freckles he found, and worked up a dark hickey over Crowley’s heart.

The weight of it wasn’t lost on Crowley, but he found it wasn’t in his more metaphorical heart to stop it.

They wound up laying on their sides after a while, face to face, legs entangled, studying each other’s eyes between slow kisses, fingers laced together. Aziraphale was the only person Crowley could stand to have gazing at him that closely—but then, Aziraphale was the only person who seemed to adore him, who could scrutinize without scorn.

Neither realized how much time had passed until Hastur tapped on the door. “It’s nearly two, are you gits going to stop snogging and eat?”

Aziraphale blushed wildly and buried his face against Crowley’s chest.

“Shut up, you old wanker!” Crowley protested, but he sat up and started looking for his sweater.

Aziraphale got to his feet and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, trying to fluff it up and hide where Crowley had run his fingers through it.

“Too bad,” Crowley said. “You’re sexy when you’re all mussed up.”

Aziraphale blushed and scrambled into his button-down. “You’re always sexy. You’re all long legs and swiveling hips and windswept hair, honestly, you could be on romance novel covers...”

Crowley smiled. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do when I get home. Bugger getting a real job.”

“Wouldn’t other models have to touch you?” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Probably, they tend to be big on ripped-open shirts and chest touching...” Crowley mused, and smiled a little when he saw Aziraphale pouting. “Are you _jealous_?”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. “No—I—well, _yes_! Why shouldn’t I be jealous of tarted-up _floozies_ pawing at my beau?”

Crowley laughed brightly. “All right, all right. No floozies, I promise,” he teased. “Even if it means I could afford to take you to the Ritz.”

Aziraphale paused to reconsider. “Oh—well—“

Crowley threw his head back with another laugh. “So it’s true! The way to a man’s heart _is_ through his stomach.”

“Maybe a little, for this man anyway,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley came closer and kissed his cheek. “Is that why we’re stopping for lunch?”

“I also don’t know how much more I can take without exploding,” Aziraphale admitted, eyes on the floor, blushing crimson.

“Well...if ever you wanted to explode, you know where to find me,” Crowley whispered.

“I _do_ want to,” Aziraphale said, and bit his lip.

Crowley pulled back a little, eyebrow raised. “Now?”

“Nooo...” Aziraphale said. “I mean, yes, in a way, but—no. Not now.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. When you stop hesitating,” he said. “When you’re _sure_.”

Aziraphale kissed him softly. “I’m glad you’re so patient,” he said.

Crowley smiled fondly. “We’re having fun in the meantime, angel, you don’t have to thank me,” he said. “C’mon. We should probably get downstairs.”

They did, some ten minutes later, looking more or less presentable, or at least presentable enough that Hastur didn’t comment. What he did say was “Happy birthday, kid,” which made Aziraphale really happy.

They had grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch, and Aziraphale, of course, called them Monte Cristos, to which Hastur called him a fancy bastard, which made him less happy, but Crowley jumped in and defended him which made him feel better.

After lunch they commandeered the couch to watch movies, and Hastur let them have it to themselves since it was Aziraphale’s birthday.

Crowley picked a gory slasher film first, and as hoped, Aziraphale buried his face against Crowley’s chest for most of it. “Why do people enjoy these awful things?”

Crowley smiled. “Well, _you_ are why _I’m_ enjoying it...”

Aziraphale lifted his face and smacked Crowley’s chest lightly. “You don’t have to _trick_ me into cuddling you!”

Crowley shrugged. “It worked, though...”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and hid his face again, as the murdering monster got hold of a chainsaw.

When it was done Crowley agreed to let him pick the rest of the movies for the day to make up for it, and Aziraphale picked classic romances that he’d never been allowed to watch.

“We should start dinner soon,” Aziraphale finally pointed out.

Crowley grinned. “I’ll get my keys.”

He took Aziraphale out for dinner, to an Italian place. He’d had to ask Hastur for money but Hastur had agreed to it, as a birthday present for Aziraphale. The restaurant was candle-lit, with small booths draped with ivy on the outside, keeping them private.

“This is beautiful,” Aziraphale told him, fondly.

“Just for you, angel.” Crowley dared to reach across the table and hold his hands while they were waiting. “I still can’t believe you didn’t _tell me_ , that you would’ve just let me skip this.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “My birthday’s never been particularly important. We didn’t make much fuss in my family. No one would’ve come to a party at our house.”

Crowley winced. “Yeah, I suspect that’s true.” He shook his head. “But not only is your birthday special, and you should get all the attention, but also, you’re an adult now!”

Aziraphale hadn’t really thought about it the way Crowley had—but then, he hadn’t been planning an escape in the same way. Even if he had, now he would want to delay it to stay with Crowley. He wasn’t giving him up. “I suppose I am,” Aziraphale said. “But it doesn’t really change anything.”

“Changes everything,” Crowley said. “Your family could order you home and you could _refuse_. Or anything! I don’t know, any rebellious thing you want. _Legally_ they can’t stop you.”

Aziraphale laughed. “All I want to do is live my life with my boyfriend,” he said. “Settle down someday. Have a family.”

Crowley blew it off as a general boyfriend, a theoretical boyfriend, the one Aziraphale would have after him.

Aziraphale meant Crowley.

“Get home and teach the masses about books,” Crowley teased.

“Well, I can’t well picture myself changing my mind and becoming a stripper,” Aziraphale joked.

Crowley was glad for the privacy of the booth and the tablecloth. “Ngk— _angel_ —“

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Should I not have said that?”

Crowley laughed. “I mean—I just—I wouldn’t mind seeing it...and also, a month ago you couldn’t picture yourself actually _having_ a boyfriend—“

“Much less the one I really wanted,” Aziraphale cut in.

Crowley fought a blush. “Right. Just—life throws you curveballs, don’t forget.”

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “For which I’m beyond grateful.”

Crowley chuckled. “I’m trying to be cynical and jaded, angel. You’re making it difficult!”

“Don’t. It’s my birthday,” Aziraphale reminded him, beaming.

Crowley lifted a hand to protest, but had to put it down. “Well, damn...guess you’ve got me there...”

Aziraphale nodded triumphantly. “I do.”

The waitress came with their food and they were both quiet for a little bit, just enjoying the company in silence.

“This really has been the best birthday,” Aziraphale murmured, after a while.

“Hopefully you won’t be mad if I tell you we can’t get dessert,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale bit down a sigh. “Oh—I—“

“There’s birthday cake at home,” Crowley added, and Aziraphale lit up again.

“Oh! Oh, Crowley, you—you’re too sweet—“

“Hopefully the cake is, too,” Crowley said, nudging his foot against Aziraphale’s ankle.

Aziraphale grinned. “Well now I’m excited to go home!”

“I was going to offer to take you to a movie, too,” Crowley said. “I’m sure there’s something romantic playing.”

“And then home for cake?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. “I wanted to do _something_. If you wanted to go to the arcade or something else, though...”

Aziraphale shook his head. “A movie sounds lovely. This has all felt—rather like a grown-up birthday. Like—I’m not a silly child for enjoying it.”

Crowley smiled. “So long as you’re having a good time.”

“No. I’m having a _wonderful_ time.”

Crowley had been right, of course there was a Christmas-themed romantic comedy playing, and Aziraphale didn’t bat an eye at its PG-13 rating. He was an adult now, after all.

They curled together in the theater without the chair arm between them. Crowley didn’t really pay attention to the movie, mostly just admired Aziraphale’s enchantment in the semidarkness.

“One more thing, before we go home,” Crowley said, in the car. “It won’t take long. Sadly.” They still had to mind Aziraphale’s curfew, after all.

Aziraphale frowned. “Shouldn’t we hurry back, then?”

“Just trust me, angel,” Crowley said, and of course Aziraphale did, implicitly.

Crowley wove his way up one of the hills on the edge of town, in one of the affluent neighborhoods, well past where they’d gone trick-or-treating.

“There’s nothing up here,” Aziraphale said. “They’re still building houses.”

Crowley smiled. “Exactly.”

He pulled the car over and parked at the end of a cul-de-sac that hadn’t seen much traffic, but was surrounded by lots being cleared for new houses. Below them the town’s lights stretched out, glittering like a second set of stars.

Aziraphale pressed to the window to look. “Oh, it’s beautiful...”

Crowley ran a hand up his back, along his spine. “So’s my view,” he murmured. He unbuckled and started climbing into the back. “Easier for cuddling, without the gearshift in the way...”

Aziraphale hesitated, but only because he was unsure that he’d be able to climb over the seat. “Help me?” he asked, as he unbuckled, and Crowley offered him a hand. He managed to get over the seat and Crowley immediately slipped his arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss.

Aziraphale leaned in, nudging Crowley onto his back. Crowley had to pull up his knees, bracketing Aziraphale between them, but he managed and Aziraphale laid on top of him.

“Can’t see the view from here,” Crowley teased.

“This view’s prettier,” Aziraphale said, before attacking his neck with kisses. “Gorgeous, even...”

Crowley chuckled warmly. “S’nice, angel...” he purred, running his hands up Aziraphale’s back, daring to slip long fingers up under his shirts at the back.

Aziraphale only sighed happily, arching under the touch, letting Crowley’s hands wander—upward, at least, above the waist. He lifted his head to press his lips to Crowley’s, their tongues sliding past each other. He curled his own hands in Crowley’s hair.

Crowley rolled his hips up in serpentine patterns and Aziraphale moaned softly at the friction. Maybe he was falling from grace, but just then it felt like it might be a soft landing at the bottom after all—soft enough that it just might be worth _jumping_ from grace.

Crowley nipped softly at Aziraphale’s lower lip. “Angel...” he breathed. He sighed happily. “Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “It really is,” he murmured. “I’ve never been so happy.”

Crowley played gently with Aziraphale’s hair. “I’ve done well?”

Aziraphale smiled. “You couldn’t have done better.”

“Oh, good, I’m not even done yet,” Crowley said. “Kiss me again?”

Aziraphale tipped his head again and pressed their lips together.

They stayed for a little while longer—not as long as either of them wanted, but there was curfew to consider.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to expect back at Crowley’s house, but when they came in, there was a homemade cake waiting on the table, with eighteen glowing candles, and “Happy Birthday Angel” written on it in icing. A few colorful balloons floated from a weight sitting on the table.

Aziraphale gasped and turned to Crowley, who just grinned. “You knew I didn't forget the most important part.”

“How—“

“Uncle Hastur put it out. But I made the cake myself, last night, after you left,” Crowley said. “Double chocolate.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “Oh, thank you—“

“Go on, blow out the candles!” Crowley said. “Make you a wish!”

Aziraphale went to the table and blew the lot of them out in a single breath.

He wished for another birthday, just like this, with Crowley.

Crowley hurried to fetch a knife and two plates, and let Aziraphale cut the piece he wanted. “There’s ice cream, too,” Crowley said, running to get it from the freezer.

They settled down at the same corner of the table, knees nudging together underneath. “This is delicious, you did beautifully,” Aziraphale said.

“Just a box mix,” Crowley murmured. “But I’m glad it turned out.”

“You did beautifully all day,” Aziraphale said. “It’s been exactly the birthday I’ve dreamed of.”

Crowley smiled widely. “Birthday you’ve deserved, angel. I’m glad I got it right. Just wish you didn’t have to go home.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. I agree. I’m hoping Gabriel will be asleep when I come in, but I doubt I’ll be that lucky.”

“Yeah, well—starting next week we’ll have three whole weeks to ourselves,” Crowley said. “I’m so excited, angel, it’s going to be the best vacation—“

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked, frowning in confusion.

Crowley paused. “Christmas break,” he said. “One more week of school and then we’re out until next year. Did you forget? They surely won’t even _let_ you stay in the dorms...”

Aziraphale gasped softly. “Oh—no, they won’t, dear boy—but—“

Crowley frowned. “Well, won’t you be coming to stay here, then?” Why would Aziraphale go anywhere else?

“I can’t,” Aziraphale said. “I have to go home. It’s already planned.”

Crowley frowned. “Home? But—“

“Home to _Soho_ ,” Aziraphale clarified. “Not home, the dorms...”

Crowley’s face fell, and Aziraphale’s heart sank, as they both realized what the other had been expecting.

“Damn it!” Crowley said, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter. “I thought—I wanted—fuck, angel, you—“ He let out a very frustrated sigh. “I might’ve known they’d ruin our fun.” They’d successfully kept his time with Aziraphale to a minimum for three months now, what was another month in the grand scheme of things?

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Well. I mean...I do _want_ to go. Sort of. Though I’ll miss you like crazy.” He looked down, eyes on the last bites of his cake. “It’s _Christmas_. There’s—traditions...”

Crowley sighed. “Presents and food?”

“Yeah,” Aziraphale agreed. “I wish you could come with.”

“That would be impossible, even if I could afford it,” Crowley said. “You know that.”

“I know that,” Aziraphale agreed. “If wishes were horses, beggars could ride and all that.”

“Do you even miss them?” Crowley asked.

“I’d like to see my cousins, and my grandmother,” Aziraphale said. He was starting to feel like it was probably the last Christmas he’d have with most of them. He wouldn’t be welcome once he came out. He wanted to go, and savor it, before he had to make his break and live his own life.

He didn’t mention this to Crowley, in a move he’d curse himself for later.

Crowley nodded. Some people liked their families, something he honestly forgot at times. “Right. Well. We can...can’t text, I guess...?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Probably won’t even take my American phone with me for the trip.”

“You have Skype, though,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale lit up. Normally he loathed Skype, dreaded the very idea, because the only people he contacted with it were his family. He hadn’t even had the app until he was packing for America. But calling Crowley, on the other hand, that would be a very different experience. “I wouldn’t get to call you much, but it would be better than nothing—“

“Put the app on your phone, angel, it’s as good as texting,” Crowley said. “You can even set my name to Ash if you _really_ want to sell that.” He was still disappointed, but damned if they were going to keep them completely apart.

“You’re a genius!” Aziraphale said.

Crowley didn’t even protest. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m pretty damn clever.” He smiled a little and even started back in on his bit of cake.

Aziraphale reached over and put his hand on Crowley’s. “I am sorry,” he said. “I want my family Christmas, but three weeks here with you does sound absolutely glorious. I’m just as sorry to be missing that opportunity. But—I _can’t_. They’d—there’s just no plausible excuse.”

Crowley lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I do understand, angel,” he said. He was second choice. He and Aziraphale weren’t built to last, and he’d known that right from the start. Honestly it had been silly of him to assume anything, of course a religious family would have expectations of Aziraphale at Christmas that he couldn’t wriggle out of, even if Crowley _was_ more important to him. He pretended that he wasn’t shattered by finding out his perfect fantasy wasn’t going to happen after all.

He was sort of an expert at playing down his disappointments by then.

Besides, it was probably better not to have all that time together just to get even more attached to each other. April was coming, and it wasn’t going to get any easier.

Aziraphale smiled at him, all the more devastating. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I really wish I could do both somehow. But we’ll get through it.” He scooped up his last bite of cake. “Much as I hate to say it...it’s nearly curfew,” he pointed out.

Crowley groaned, throwing his hands in the air and his head back. “The universe hates me!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I don’t think it’s you, specifically.”

Crowley sighed as he sat up. “The problem with these really great Saturdays is that then...it’s Sunday.”

Aziraphale sighed, too. “I know. But you should text me so I can get you added on Skype.”

Crowley perked up a little at the sound of that. “Yeah. That’s fair.” Not that he wouldn’t have texted, but then they’d be able to Skype, too, and maybe if Gabriel was out, he could video with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hurried to gather his things.

The goodbye kiss they shared before entering the school grounds was all too brief. The one they shared the following Friday afternoon, at the airport—Aziraphale had convinced his parents to let him give Crowley some gas money instead of paying for a cab—was a lot longer. There wasn’t exactly privacy, but no one that mattered was there. No one paid a pair of lovesick teenagers any mind, either, so Crowley had Aziraphale pressed against the wall, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his throat, Aziraphale clinging to his jacket and gasping in pleasure all the while. “Crowley—we shouldn’t—security—“

Crowley chuckled against his skin. “Just need to make sure you’ll _miss_ me, angel...”

Aziraphale groaned softly. “No worries there,” he murmured. “But I do have to go, I can’t miss my flight, you know my parents would—“

Crowley sighed, thumping his forehead against the wall behind Aziraphale. “I know. I swore I wouldn’t ever get you in trouble with them.” He pulled back to kiss Aziraphale’s lips, long and slow and sweet. He pulled away with another sigh and rolled Aziraphale’s suitcase for him as far as he could, until security said he couldn’t go any further without a ticket.

Aziraphale sighed and turned to kiss him softly. “I already miss you.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. You’ll let me know as soon as you’re there?”

Aziraphale smiled. “You’ll be asleep.”

“It won’t be that late here,” Crowley said. “Just a quick message, you don’t have to call. I know it’ll be late there.” Crowley was always keenly aware of the time back at home. Coming to America was putting him five hours into the past, but it felt more like fifty years into the past at school.

Aziraphale nodded. Between the time of the flight and the time difference, he’d be landing in the wee hours of the morning on London time, but before midnight for Crowley. “I’ll send you a Skype message.” They’d gotten it all set up and tested things already, Aziraphale was ready to receive messages from Ashtoreth, and they’d already exchanged a few just in case Aziraphale’s family got it in their heads to examine them.

“All right. Good. I’ll be awake,” Crowley promised. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down, angel.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Right. I’ll try.”

Things hung heavy in the air between them. Both of them somehow felt like they should be saying ”I love you,” but also that it was a bad time to admit it—and too soon to be feeling something so ridiculous, surely.

Crowley nodded and kissed him once more, sweetly. “Go,” he encouraged. “Don’t miss your plane.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Not soon enough, but soon.” He finally forced himself to leave, to go through the door and get in line for security.


	13. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's holiday gets off to a rocky start. Ashtoreth gets to say hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have many readers last week, I'm guessing you were all off doing Thanksgiving things? Well...now you can read about Christmas break, ahah
> 
> One of the weird things I'm proud of re: this fic is keeping the time difference straight during Aziraphale's trip lol

The flight was uneventful, and Aziraphale tried to nap. It would take time to get home from the airport, and he would only have about two hours to sleep before he would be expected to be up with everyone else and stay up all day with them. The day was likely to require a lot of tea regardless.

He called his mother from a pay phone in the terminal, and then Skyped Crowley over the wifi. [I’ve landed. Waiting on my mother to come from the parking lot.]

Crowley was relieved to hear it. He had half been expecting some sort of terrible tragedy, because that would be just his luck, to find someone that made him happy only to have him ripped away. (Not that spending the school break separated wasn’t a small tragedy, but at least it was something he could get through.) [I’m glad, angel, are you feeling all right?]

[Yes, other than missing you like crazy already.] Aziraphale smiled warmly at the screen, at the picture of Crowley done up as Ashtoreth. It was the absolute truth.

Crowley smiled, too. [I miss you, too, angel, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be here when you’re free to talk. Whatever you do, don’t get in trouble over me!!]

Aziraphale sighed a little, reading the hidden admonishment between the lines—“Don’t come out, don’t be an idiot.” The dishonesty came easy when there was an ocean between him and the scrutinizing gaze of his family, but he was worried it would be impossible when they could physically reach out and shake him.

He was worried that if he did come out, a shaking would be the least of his worries. He tried to push it down, but this Christmas it was visions of conversion therapy that danced through his head—illegal in the UK, but he had a nasty feeling it wouldn’t matter. If they couldn’t find someone who would do it through some sort of back channel or loophole, they’d come up with some sort of homeschooling version.

He reminded himself that he was an adult now—and if he wound up in that situation, Crowley would be the first in line to help him escape. Crowley was _good_ , no matter what they said.

So he pushed it down enough to tell Crowley [Of course not. I’ll be just fine,] and to paste on a wide smile for his mother, who rolled up to the pavement to pick him up with a scowl on her face and a Thermos of tea in hand.

There was no great outpouring of affection, Aziraphale was ushered home and essentially straight into bed as quickly as possible, with things like unpacking and charging his phone and such to be dealt with later in the morning, lest he wake his brother. He didn’t even get to send Crowley another message.

Back in America, Crowley tried to tell himself that that was exactly what was happening, and tried not to worry.

* * *

Saturday began a few hours later for Aziraphale, with his mother fussing over what clothes he had with him, what laundry needed doing, what he would need to pack to go back to America with him. Then he had to socialize with the family, and his phone was in desperate need of a charge, and it was late in the afternoon before he had a moment’s peace to message Crowley—and that was only because he stole it by locking himself in the bathroom.

[I miss you. It’s already a bit much here.]

Crowley had slept and woken again by then, and had his phone up loud. [Angel! Are they awful?]

[I’m rather looking forward to seeing my cousins instead. My brothers are all being irritating.]

[Not as much fun as making out with me on my bed? >:)]

[Delete that! They might go through my phone!]

[ _message removed_ ]

Aziraphale deleted his message too. [I don’t have much time. I have to go. I wish I could call you. I’m in the bathroom hiding right now.]

[Anytime you’re free. And if I need to doll up first just let me know.] Crowley decided not to point how _not_ normal that was. Aziraphale was a big boy, he had to know by now.

[I’ll message as soon as I can.]

It wasn’t very soon, Aziraphale’s family kept him busy until bedtime. “I _would_ like to call my girlfriend,” he pointed out, as his parents headed to their bedroom.

“You should’ve said so earlier!” his mother scolded. “You need to sleep, it’s too late tonight!”

“It’s vacation,” Aziraphale said, meekly. “I don’t need so very much sleep...”

“Nonsense. You’re still growing!” his father said. “Get to bed!”

Aziraphale did as he was told. He brushed his teeth, got into pajamas, and got into his bed...where he promptly pulled the covers over his head and Skyped Crowley, careful not to let the light creep out and alert his brother.

[Hello, darling.]

[Angel. Can you call?]

[No. I share the room with Isaiah. Can’t wake him, he would tattle. But it’s not even midnight, I’m not sleepy. I miss you.] Aziraphale had rather naïvely thought he’d be too busy to miss Crowley as much as he did. He was exactly as busy as he’d thought he would be, but his missing Crowley was far worse than he’d anticipated.

Crowley always made Aziraphale feel normal and appreciated. Sure, Crowley made Aziraphale feel like he was _weird_ , but he never made Aziraphale feel _bad_ for it, like it was a problem, like it made Aziraphale _defective_ somehow. If he was out of the loop, Crowley simply took him by the hand—sometimes literally now—and filled him in, looped him into the joke, and put them back on equal footing instead of leaving Aziraphale to feel like he was off-kilter. Aziraphale didn’t feel ashamed anymore for not having had the same experiences as everyone else—Crowley was showing him that since everyone was some degree of weird, then really, most people weren’t.

Crowley, for his part, simply _liked_ weird. Aziraphale was far more _interesting_ than all the buttoned-up clones at school, even if it was by way of having old-fashioned tastes. It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, Crowley’s taste in music included classic rock, and he was itching to get back to his beautiful vintage Bentley. Old things had their place and value. Crowley would never wear bow ties, but he _understood_ , on some level, feeling a bit out of one’s own time.

[I miss you, too, angel.] No point in denying it. Crowley had been a bit lost as to what to do on his Saturday without Aziraphale by his side. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fill over two weeks. He was sure the Sundays were going to suck even worse than usual.

[I really wish you could’ve come with. Even if you’d had to go to your family. Even better if you could’ve been here.] Aziraphale would’ve had a much easier time dealing with his family’s chiding if Crowley had been there to roll his eyes behind their backs—to help him keep perspective, to help remind him what was and wasn’t normal, to reassure Aziraphale that he wasn’t the disappointment they thought he was.

[Dangerous game, angel. And you know why.]

[Couldn’t keep our hands off each other. And there’s no way they would’ve allowed me to sleep under the same roof as Ashtoreth.]

[If only they knew >:) ]

[I don’t dare consider it.] More messages they’d have to delete afterward.

[It’s a pity, you are an adult now.]

[Yeeees...but it’s still their roof I’m under.] Aziraphale let out a silent sigh. Freedom to do as he liked would only come with independence from their finances. He knew if he came out there would be no coming home.

[It’s not your fault they’re not accepting, angel.]

[You always know exactly the right thing to say.]

Crowley snorted. [I’ve heard enough of the wrong thing to know better.]

Aziraphale loved him all the more for it. Both of them spent a lot of time wondering how the other’s family couldn’t see how perfect their child was. [I only hope I can be as helpful to you when you’re upset.]

[You have been, angel. I haven’t forgotten the miracle you worked on my shirt the day Gabriel got me.] And maybe, just a little on himself as well. Aziraphale had taken care of him so tenderly, with shaking hands...

There were a lot of things about that day Aziraphale would _never_ forget. [I remember what you looked like without it.] He considered for a long moment before pressing send.

[Always welcome to another look, angel, you know that.]

[I’m having lascivious thoughts.]

[Wonderful. You’re a teenager. I’m your beau. You should be having lots of them.] Crowley considered for a moment. [I could send pictures if you need some help.]

Aziraphale nearly moaned, and had to cover his mouth. [I don’t really want to risk having them on here...]

[Fair. But I might take a few just to send you when you have a safe place to put them.]

[Wily tempter.] Aziraphale teased, trying not to let on how badly the idea affected him.

[Only for you, angel.] Crowley, for all the sexual energy he radiated when he wanted to, was loyal and only directed it one way.

Aziraphale smiled. How had he ever gotten so lucky? [I know, dear. And you know I feel the same.] Aziraphale was only barely stumbling into his sexuality, but whatever he discovered he wanted to explore with Crowley.

[I know. And maybe we should talk about something else, if you’re stuck where you can’t do anything about anything.] Crowley was not without compassion for the circumstances.

[Right. What have you done today? How are things?]

[Nothing special, angel. Watched TV, messed about on the computer. I’m so bored without you.]

[I wish they’d let me be bored. But “idle hands are the devil’s playground.”]

[...move out. Never look back.] Crowley very nearly typed “run away with me,” but couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. That was definitely an overblown thing to say to your high school boyfriend—and he wasn’t sure Aziraphale wanted to be rescued, anyway. It was going to have to be on Aziraphale’s terms and Crowley didn’t think he was ready to ditch his family just yet.

[Like you plan to?]

[Basically.]

[If I try that now, I won’t get to come back to St. Bernadette’s. I won’t see you again. I can’t do that.]

Crowley smiled in the darkness of his room. [That’s true. And I know you want to graduate.] Aziraphale had his priorities sorted.

[That too.] Aziraphale wasn’t sure when that had become second to him, but he realized then that it had.

[You’ll have to send me some pictures. Take selfies. Show me your house. Show me anywhere you go. Not now of course, but when you’re up and around.]

[Yes. If I sent you one right now it would just be a black square haha. But I’ll try to send one in the morning.] Aziraphale yawned softly. It was still a bit early but he hadn’t gotten to sleep. [I think the jet lag is catching up to me now that I’m in the dark.]

[I can let you go for now, angel. Get some rest so you don’t bite anyone’s head off.]

[Probably wise, much as I’d rather be talking to you. But I’ll message you in the morning?]

[I won’t be up when you get up, but yes. Leave me pictures to look at.]

[Will do. Good night <3]

[Sweet dreams, angel.]

* * *

Aziraphale did send a selfie the next morning, all dressed in his literal Sunday best—long white suit coat and bow tie—because of course the entire family went to Mass together. He sent a picture of the outside of his house, and the outside of the church, and then his father threatened to confiscate his phone if he took any more, so Aziraphale put it away. After Mass he convinced his mother to have one of their fellow parishioners take a picture of the entire family, while they were all together and dressed up. He didn’t mention that it might be the last one they all took together, and he sent it to Crowley.

Crowley, of course, didn’t wake up until it was mid-afternoon Aziraphale’s time, and it took him a bit to be awake enough to message back. He studied the pictures while he ate breakfast. The last one, he lingered on.

Aziraphale’s parents were a bit older than he’d thought, his father’s hair completely grayed out, and if Crowley hadn’t seen the shockingly white blond on Aziraphale, he would’ve assumed his mother’s hair was white from age.

Aziraphale was the next-to-youngest of their five children. The eldest two were already moved out, so they weren’t in the photo. The youngest, Isaiah, had gotten Mr. Fell’s stern eyes. Crowley decided he looked like a snitch. The middle child, Zachariah, was only a year older than Aziraphale, but it looked like a lot more—he had the same white-blond hair, but it was buzzed so short it made it look like the hair of an elderly man.

Crowley could see the strong family resemblance in all of them, but what really stood out to him in all of it was the way that Aziraphale was smiling, and didn’t look happy at all.

Once he’d tidied the kitchen, he messaged Aziraphale back. [Nice to see you’re having fun.]

A few minutes later, Aziraphale replied. [Oh. Not really. Everyone at Mass had the same hundred questions about America. I can’t really talk now but my mother said I could call you tonight, over video. From the dining room where she could check in.]

[Oh! I’ll have to put on my prettiest dress, if your mum might meet me.]

Aziraphale sighed in relief that Crowley had understood instantly. [Please do, darling. Shall we say...three hours, give or take? I’ll call when dinner and the washing up are done here?]

[Sounds perfect.] It gave Crowley time to plan an outfit and do his makeup.

It was almost a perfect lady that appeared on Aziraphale’s screen that evening. “Hello, angel,” Crowley greeted, expertly painted lips smiling excitedly at Aziraphale’s face.

“Angel?” Aziraphale’s mother asked, from somewhere behind the screen.

“That’s what Ash calls me,” Aziraphale said, frowning at her before smiling at Ashtoreth. “I miss you, darling,” he told her. “I do wish you could’ve come home, too.”

“He’s no angel,” Aziraphale’s mother said, coming to sit beside him at the dining table, causing Aziraphale to blush brightly. She leaned in to get a better look at Aziraphale’s girlfriend.

Crowley had dressed sensibly for such a thing, at least from the waist up—Aziraphale wondered what was on the bottom half, out of frame. But up top, Crowley was in a black button-up, and had a dainty silver necklace on, requiring that the shirt be completely buttoned, and silver earrings, and silver bracelets clinking on his wrist.

Aziraphale’s mother frowned. “He’s no angel, and you’re a painted tart.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Mother, that is _no way_ to talk to my lovely girlfriend—that’s _rude_ —“ The transformation into Ashtoreth _did_ take a little painting, but Aziraphale never dreamed she would be so blunt.

“You ought to have better taste, Aziraphale—“ His mother’s lecture was only _starting_ , he could feel it, but then they were interrupted.

A soft whine came through the screen. Crowley was _crying_.

Aziraphale gasped, and turned his attention to him. “Oh—darling, no, don’t—I don’t think—“

“It’s all right!” Crowley wailed. “I _am_! I’m a tart, she’s right...”

Aziraphale blinked, not sure what to make of it.

Crowley sniffled. “Oh, it’s embarrassing...only it’s just...I break out, you see...I’m trying different skin routines but—but I can’t get the medicated stuff and I just can’t clear it up—and—and so—“

Aziraphale tried not to smile at what a goddamn _genius_ his beau was.

“I have to put on a lot, to cover it up—“ Crowley said, pathetically. “I’m sorry, angel, I didn’t want you to know...”

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale said. “It doesn’t matter to me, darling.”

His mother huffed. “Well—it—it’s still unladylike. But I suppose I can understand.”

Aziraphale smiled. “See, it’s all right,” he told Crowley, warmly, even though he knew it was all an act.

Crowley grabbed a tissue and dabbed under his eyes, and pulled over a mirror to check that his mascara hadn’t run everywhere. “Are you sure, angel?” he asked, pitifully.

“You know I still feel exactly the same about you,” Aziraphale assured him.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up. “Well...good. All right.” He took a deep breath. “I miss you. It’s been so quiet and lonely.”

“You shouldn’t be so hung up on each other,” Aziraphale’s mother cut in.

“But Aziraphale’s such a gentleman!” Crowley gushed. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even an exaggeration. “How could I not want to be with him all the time?”

Aziraphale blushed brightly. “Ash is wonderful, Mother. She’s very sweet.”

Crowley put on a winning smile, which didn’t work on Aziraphale’s mother because his lipstick was too bright. After a beat Aziraphale turned away from her and put his attention on Crowley. “I wanted to call earlier but we’ve been very busy. We went to visit my grandmother...”

It wasn’t what Crowley wanted to talk about—nor Aziraphale—but he understood that Aziraphale was under surveillance. They were putting on the pure and innocent act for Aziraphale’s mother to see that his having a “girlfriend” wasn’t going to send him to Hell.

And if it kept Aziraphale safe, Crowley could listen to the most boring story ever told, with rapt attention—which he was pretty certain was exactly what he was doing. The only thing they got to say that was close to interesting was when Crowley showed off how the succulent Aziraphale had given him was doing (lush and perfect, of course).

Aziraphale’s mother didn’t give them a single second alone, and finally told Aziraphale, “You need to wrap this up. It’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I have to go, Ash. But hopefully I can call again in a day or two.”

“Anytime, angel,” Crowley assured him. “I won’t be busy except maybe on Christmas Day.”

Aziraphale smiled. “All right. Talk soon.”

Crowley waved as he disconnected.

Aziraphale closed his laptop and looked at his mother. “See? She’s beautiful.”

She pursed her lips. “Well. She’s all right. I don’t imagine you could do much better.” It was not a compliment, but Aziraphale refused to feel insulted.

“I’m very fond of her,” he said. “I’m hoping we have a future together.”

“You want to marry this girl? Have children with her?” his mother asked, skeptically. “Is she even Catholic?”

“...no. But if we had children, they would be,” Aziraphale said. He was fairly sure that was a lie. He didn’t want to inflict it on his kids, if he somehow got to raise any, with Crowley or otherwise.

His mother shook her head. “That hardly seems like the best environment—“

“Well, Mother, a monastery isn’t the best environment for me,” Aziraphale said. “And yet you had your heart set on that, didn’t you?” He shook his head. “I definitely want a family. I don’t want to be alone forever. Maybe it’ll be Ash, maybe it won’t, but _I—will not_ be a priest.” That much he had decided. “I know you want one in the family but you can’t force it.”

She sighed heavily. “There’s still Zachariah and Isaiah,” she mused.

“If one of them _wants_ to,” Aziraphale said. He might not have been on the best terms with his brothers, exactly, but having one’s future decided for them was a nightmare and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He suddenly realized why both his oldest brothers married so young—it maybe wasn’t entirely a desire to hurry and start on their own Good Catholic Families, but they might’ve wanted to escape the Fell parents.

He couldn’t help but think that Crowley would be proud of him for speaking up.

“Right. Of course,” she agreed, feeling a bit out of her depth. Somehow she’d lost control of the conversation. She could only hope she hadn’t lost control of her son. “Well. Get on up to bed.” She got up from her chair to head upstairs.

Aziraphale did as he was told, and messaged Crowley an apology and some sweet nothings from the bathroom.

[Nothing to be sorry for, angel. Priority #1 here is your safety. Was kind of proud of the breakout story. Quick thinking.]

[You’re a genius.] Aziraphale agreed. [I really hope I get a chance to call you again when I’m alone. She was terrible.]


	14. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the second part of Christmas vacation, Crowley and Aziraphale get to speak without eavesdroppers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late posting! It's my wedding anniversary today (4 years!) and I got distracted, ahah.
> 
> But I think the events herein might make up for it.

It took three days, but Aziraphale got his chance. [Come online as quick as you can, if you’re free!] he sent, and waited anxiously beside his laptop, alone in his room—alone in the house.

It was midmorning for Crowley, and he was barely awake, but he was in front of his laptop and typed back a quick message before thinking everything through. [I’m already on my computer, angel.]

Aziraphale’s call came through almost instantaneously. “Crowley! Father’s at work and Mother took my brothers shopping and dear god _you’re naked_.”

Crowley blinked, and stood up from his desk so his hips were in frame. “Am not, got boxers,” he said, shaking his hips a little. Aziraphale swallowed thickly at the sight of his hipbones peeking above them. “Though to be fair, I just locked the door, was going to look something up and have a quick wank before I went looking for breakfast.” He sat back down and grinned. “But here I am looking at _your_ beautiful face.”

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale said, scandalized.

Crowley shrugged. “What? Something wrong with liking the sight of my boyfriend’s beautiful face?” He grinned impishly. “You know. You’re here. I’m here. Could just have a wank anyway. Put on a show for you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide—with shock or fright, Crowley couldn’t tell.

“Only if you agree, angel,” he said. “I could stay right here. Keep my dick off the camera.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. Already he could feel a curl of desire in his belly at the thought. Seeing Crowley like that— _hearing_ him—Aziraphale was so caught up in the thought he almost didn’t hear what Crowley actually said.

“You could too, you know. Have a wank,” Crowley murmured.

“I couldn’t—can’t—“

Crowley sighed a bit. “Do you not want to?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I do...just...”

“Not like it would be the first time I jerked off thinking of you, angel,” Crowley said, bluntly but gently.

Aziraphale groaned softly. “Crowley, I—I’m hard just thinking of it,” he admitted.

“I could help you with that,” Crowley purred. “Just—blow off a little steam together. Watch each other,” he said. “It’s not touching, angel, it’s not sex—it’s a baby step,” he said. He very deliberately moved a hand down his stomach. “Do you want to?”

Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off that hand sliding off screen. “Crowley...”

Crowley paused. “Or I can get dressed, angel...it’s all right. I can deal with it later...”

“No!” Aziraphale snapped. “I—“

“Yes, angel?” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, forced himself to think about what he really wanted. “They’re not home, but—let me lock the door—“ He got up and walked off camera. His trousers weren’t tight, none of them were, but Crowley got a glimpse of the outline of his cock, thick as it got weighty with desire. It was gone before he could catch any details, of course, but Crowley let out a little whimper of want all the same.

Aziraphale sat back down in a hurry. “Crowley...I want you,” he breathed. “We should hurry, probably—“

Crowley was wriggling in his chair, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was doing, until he was placing his black boxers on the desk. “ _Now_ I’m naked. Your turn.” Crowley gave him a wink, and then stared, waiting.

Aziraphale nodded and shed his shirt as quickly as he could. Crowley heard the jingle of the buckle as he undid his belt. “Bet you’re so gorgeous,” Crowley said. “If you’d let me I’d love to get my mouth on you. On your thighs, really mark you up...”

Aziraphale whined a little as he fumbled to get his trousers and underwear off and kick them under the desk. “Crowley...” He’d thought of that exact thing, of Crowley under his desk in the place where his clothes were currently piled, and then the opposite as well...

Crowley grinned. “Just go for it, angel, do what you normally do. Show me how you look, all happy with pleasure...”

“I don’t, normally...” Aziraphale said. “Usually...I take a cold shower...”

“But you _have_ done this, yeah?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded as he finally reached down and stroked himself, and let out a groan of relief. “Few times...”

Crowley smiled softly. “Gorgeous, angel...just like that, all right? Whatever you like best...” He opened up the desk drawer and took out a bottle of lotion, and put just a little in his hand. “This helps, I find.” He let it warm up before he started to touch himself. “Fuck. Ought to get some proper lube, really...”

“You’re breathtaking,” Aziraphale said. “I love it when—when we’re making out, and—and you moan, and—“

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment and tipped his head back. “Yeah—“ He shook his head and looked back at the screen so he could see Aziraphale, whose breath seemed caught in his throat. “Imagining it’s my hand on you?” he asked. “I wish it was, I would love to be the one making you feel like this...”

Aziraphale gasped softly. “Yeah—“ He could picture it, he had before, a few times—Crowley’s long fingers, twisting and stroking just right—

Aziraphale stroked a little faster, though he was in no hurry for the incredible moment to end. He moaned sharply, eyes on Crowley’s.

Crowley grinned. “Wouldn’t mind your doing this for me, either, you know...maybe both at the same time...”

“I can barely focus as it is,” Aziraphale breathed. “You’re so gorgeous...” He was watching the muscles move under Crowley’s skin as his arm flexed quickly back and forth.

“Perfect, angel,” Crowley purred. “Wish I was there. Wish I could see more. Wish I could touch, get you off... _suck_ you off, fuck, angel, I bet you’d be glorious all...spread out and—“

Aziraphale was suddenly gasping and Crowley went silent as he realized Aziraphale was coming. He smiled a bit to himself.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered, when he was finished, leaning against the desk.

“So that did it for you, then? Imagining my lips on you?” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale groaned. “Talk like that and I’ll be ready to go again in two minutes.”

Crowley cared not a whit about a warning like that. “Because I want to do that, angel, I would love to...want to see you—touch you— _fuck_ —“ He groaned lowly as he came. He was still only for a second before he was lifting his hand to lick away the mess.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, shocked.

It only made Crowley exaggerate the movement of his tongue. “What, wishing it was your cock, angel?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Just get your arse home, angel, I’m all yours as soon as you’re here,” Crowley breathed. “On the way back from the airport if you want...anytime.”

Aziraphale glared for a few seconds—and then he was stroking himself again.

Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale found it even more musical than usual. “Oh, angel...I knew I affected you, but even I’m impressed now.”

Aziraphale groaned softly. “You just—you’re so _gorgeous_ and I’m so _lucky_ —“

“Not blessed?” Crowley teased.

“Shush,” Aziraphale snapped. “Like—like I haven’t thought those things about you from the moment we met.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked. “Wanted to fuck me right from the start?”

“Thought about it...” Aziraphale said. “You—you deserve—to be—“ Worshipped? He couldn’t say that. Nor loved, it was too soon, wasn’t it? Though given what they were doing together Aziraphale felt a flash of guilt about _not_ being in love, though it passed quickly as he twisted his hand over the head of his cock. He finally settled on “Adored.”

It wasn’t “love,” and he would’ve scoffed if Aziraphale had said _that_ , but Crowley shivered from the pull on his heartstrings all the same. “Tch. Angel. Not any more than you do,” he said. “You should have someone between your legs, someone pleasuring you. Someone making you feel the way you deserve to...”

“You are,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Trying,” Crowley said. “But I want to do it by _touch_. I want to get my hands on every inch of you...my mouth...get _inside_ you, you inside me...”

“Both?” Aziraphale asked, voice cracking.

“I’m down if you are, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale groaned. “ _Yes_.”

Crowley sat up a little. “Wait—really?”

Aziraphale paused. “...no?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “I’ll ask you when you’re a little less addled with the thought of it. Just come for me right now, angel, show me again...”

It was a suggestion, not a command, but apparently Aziraphale’s body took it as the latter because he came again just from the sound of Crowley saying it.

Crowley grinned. “Your O face is _breathtaking_ , angel,” he murmured. “All—flushed and pouty—fuck, but you’re beautiful,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled, panting. “Says the Adonis.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Adonis today, Aphrodite tomorrow,” he said.

“Gorgeous both ways,” Aziraphale said. “Any way. Either. In between. I always want to look at you.”

Crowley chuckled. “I’m glad, angel...it’s nice to just be... _accepted_.”

“Should be the least anyone could ask for,” Aziraphale said.

“Mmm. Yeah. But that’s not the world we live in,” Crowley said. “I’m glad not to be settling.”

Aziraphale blushed a little redder. “I sort of thought you were...”

Crowley scoffed. “I _never_ settle, angel. I go without if I can’t have what I want.” He smiled languidly. “We should do this again, at least. I think I just let out a breath for the first time since you left.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know I did—oh, but I need to—oh. Have to get dressed!” He nearly stood up, but then fell back to the chair, thinking better of it. He blushed and then disappeared under the desk, save for his back, as he tried to get his clothes from the floor.

“Not on my account, you don’t,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s head smacked against the underside of the desk.

“Ow!”

Crowley’s eyes went wide and he leaned in. “Angel?!”

“I’m all right—“ Aziraphale popped his head up. “I—just—startled.” He put his trousers on the desk and started getting back into his boxers, mindful of how much he lifted his hips.

Crowley shook his head. “Well, if you ever had any doubt in your mind as to what I want with you, wonder no more,” he said. “Gorgeous. All of you.”

Aziraphale blushed and smiled at him. “Thank you, but you’re still the gorgeous one here.”

“We can both be gorgeous,” Crowley said. “Look. We’re doing it right now.”

Aziraphale chuckled wryly. “Well...I’m glad you’re attracted to me, anyway.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “And why shouldn’t I be? I don’t understand what you think is so wrong with you. You’re soft, sure, but that’s not a bad thing, angel. I’m attracted to you because of it, not in spite of it.”

Aziraphale smiled at him with warm eyes. He very nearly believed it. “I—I still need to get dressed.” He moved off camera for the rest of it, though Crowley got a glimpse of painfully white boxer briefs, and when he sat down again Aziraphale was as much of a buttoned-up gentleman as he ever had been.

Crowley was still naked.

“You want to tell me how you’ve been?” Crowley asked. “With your family?”

Aziraphale sighed. “They’re strict. I’m noticing it more after all the freedom at school...are you going to get dressed?”

Crowley shrugged. “Only you would find _freedom_ at Catholic school.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I do understand, you know. And I’m starting to understand why you want to get away, only—I do want to graduate. Dressed, darling? Clothes?”

Crowley laughed. “Not much point when I’m going to shower whenever we’re done here.”

Aziraphale rubbed at his temples. “I want to talk and at this rate I’ll have to get undressed again.”

Crowley smiled. “Oh, all right, I’ll get my robe.” He spun in his chair so his back was to the camera and went to get it—deliberately mooning Aziraphale as he walked away. He knew it worked when he heard the strangled sound Aziraphale made, and sat back down, robe cinched tight, with a smile. “Like the view?”

“Like you weren’t tempting enough topless,” Aziraphale said. “I think you have a perfect arse.”

“I’m glad to have it confirmed!” Crowley said, beaming. “I always assumed so, but it’s hard to see over your shoulder in the mirror.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You _would_ be vain enough to try.”

Crowley smiled. “Of course I would. I’m _me_. And I’m gorgeous.”

“On that we can agree,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked down for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair and looked back up at Aziraphale. “How are you _really_ , angel?” he asked. “Are you honestly sure you’re all right? Safe?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Of course I am, so long as I don’t break the rules.” He glanced down. “I mean, so long as they don’t know if I do.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah...if you have to hang up on me real sudden, I’ll understand. I’ll understand a lot while you’re there with them, honestly. Don’t take chances if you think it’s only my feelings on the line. Your safety is more important.”

Aziraphale sniffled softly and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “I—I know you want everyone at school to think you’re some—delinquent, punk, whatever—someone that doesn’t care—but you know you’re actually one of the kindest people I’ve ever known, don’t you?”

“Bah, humbug,” Crowley said. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Aziraphale said. “You don’t think I deserve a douchebag beau, do you? And yet you stepped right up...”

Crowley snorted. “You think that I think I deserve you?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, you do. You’re good. You’re simply misunderstood by a few too many people. People who have too much influence over consequences for you.”

Crowley chuckled. “That’ll all be over soon. Just a few months.” He was counting the days. “I can make it until then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “You’re resilient.”

* * *

Aziraphale’s family continued to keep them apart too much, though Aziraphale got to see more of his cousins and sent Crowley pictures of a lot of them, with tidbits of stories. When they _were_ allowed to call, it was with one of Aziraphale’s parents within earshot—so they tried to call as much as they could when they _weren’t_ allowed. His parents didn’t leave Aziraphale alone in the house much, either, and he started to wonder if that was by design, if they suspected, _what_ they suspected.

He tried not to let the paranoia ruin his Christmas.

Crowley tried to send comforting things—pictures of his succulent, of his outfits, of Ashtoreth, anything that could distract them from the separation—but found himself growing more and more melancholy as their vacation time dragged on. It was stupid, he had no reason to be so hung up on a guy that was actually _his_. Ridiculous.

He tried to push it down and enjoy the time away from school and his bullies.

Aziraphale called Crowley—via Skype, on his phone—on Christmas Eve.

“Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight, angel,” Crowley said.

“The entire family is at my grandmother’s,” Aziraphale said. “All the cousins will be in sleeping bags in the parlor. It’s...getting a bit overwhelming.” He moved his phone around the room to show Crowley “I’m in the fifth bathroom, at the far end of the house from the party.”

Crowley hummed in sympathy. “Well, I’m drinking this in your honor.” He held up a mug. “Cocoa, with whipped cream. Sorry to say it came out of a can, though.”

Aziraphale laughed. “At least you’re having a treat. Not that I can’t, but my mother gives me the side-eye every time she sees me with a biscuit in hand.”

Crowley groaned. “Fuck her,” he said. “You enjoy your Christmas goodies.” He shook his head. “Gorgeous soft angel.”

Aziraphale grinned warmly. “I can’t wait to be back there. I wanted to be here for Christmas but I really regret that I won’t be with you to ring in the new year.”

“Why’s that?” Crowley asked, and took a sip of the cocoa.

“Well, they say whoever you’re with on New Year’s will be who you spend the year with,” Aziraphale said. “And it would’ve been nice to have a New Year’s kiss.”

Crowley pretended that it wasn’t a shot to the heart to realize that Aziraphale was basically saying they were doomed, that his superstition meant they wouldn’t finish out the next year together. Of course that had been his intention all along, but somehow it still stung to hear Aziraphale voicing it.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. Would’ve liked that. Uncle Hastur probably would’ve even let us have a little bubbly.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale chided.

Crowley smiled. “Really? You’ll go kissing on your gay boyfriend, but you draw the line at half a glass that probably won’t even get you drunk? Surely you’ve developed an alcohol tolerance from Communion wine anyway...” Unlikely, but he was feeling playful.

Aziraphale just glared at him, but it was just as playful. “I don’t think anything could be as intoxicating as my beau anyway.”

Crowley halted, and grinned. “And you say _I_ have a silver tongue.”

“It _is_ a bit easier to come up with clever retorts when your hands aren’t all over me,” Aziraphale said. “Though I’d be quite happy if I was a sight less clever right now.”

“Thattaboy,” Crowley said. “I would be, too. I do miss you, angel.” He took a long sip of cocoa. “Come back. Get your Christmas present.”

Aziraphale lit up. “Really? You got me a present?” He had one stashed for Crowley back at the dorm room, and not labeled lest Gabriel have noticed the package sitting around. Aziraphale didn’t need him asking why Crowley got a present and Ashtoreth didn’t.

Crowley wavered a hand. “Made, not got. Had to have _something_ to do on Sundays.”

Aziraphale gasped in delight and put a hand to his heart. “That’s even better!”

Crowley smiled fondly. “I’m glad you think so.” He hadn’t had the money to spare, either, not after taking Aziraphale out for his birthday.

“I do, I’ll treasure it forever,” Aziraphale promised.

“Even if it’s ugly? Even if it’s all black?” Crowley teased.

“Of course, it’ll make me think of you,” Aziraphale said. “Oh! It just turned midnight here. Happy Christmas!”

Crowley laughed a bit. “Happy Christmas, angel. Don’t let me keep you from your heralding duties,” he teased.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “They’ve had me so busy, you’d think that’s what was happening.” He shook his head. “I’m so excited to get back there with you, this holiday is just dragging—“

There was a knock at the door and someone rattled the knob. “Gotta pee!”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, and he blew Crowley a hasty kiss and disconnected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy finally earned that E rating ;D


	15. Mixer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale returns, and the boys make some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some new characters. You'll know who if you've read the tags lol

They only got to text on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, and their call on the twenty-seventh was closely monitored. Aziraphale was nearly ready to climb the walls from lack of real contact. Once Christmas was over, the cousins he’d wanted to see mostly retreated to their various homes for some downtime before school started up again and he was trapped with his parents and brothers again, no matter how many outings he suggested.

Aziraphale read a lot, when he couldn’t do anything else.

Crowley, for his part, went on a lot of long, brisk walks, and binged a lot of schlocky 90’s sitcoms. They didn’t get enough privacy for another dirty call, much to his regret.

Neither of them could wait until the fourth, when Aziraphale returned to America. Crowley was nearly ready to drive to the airport and camp out—only the chairs there weren’t so nice as his bed.

On New Year’s Eve, Aziraphale sent a sweet message at midnight, with X’s at the end for the kiss they couldn’t actually share, but they didn’t really get to speak.

[I’m packing.] Aziraphale sent, on the morning of the first.

[Already?] Crowley replied, when it got to be morning where he was, too.

[I’m trying to plan and organize and keep the laundry I need to do at a minimum. Something to kill some time, too. I’m counting the hours until we leave for the airport.]

[I’m sorry it’s so terrible, angel. I really thought you’d have a good time.] Crowley couldn’t help but be a little smug. He _knew_ Aziraphale would’ve had a good time with him. But he didn’t say it.

[Well, I did, with my cousins, but that’s over and my goodness my family is just so...cold.]

Crowley sucked in a breath. He’d understood it for a while, but it _hurt_ knowing that Aziraphale was coming to accept it, that he didn’t feel at home with his own family. [Yeah. Sounded like it.]

[I didn’t notice until I had something to compare to. Not that your uncle is particularly warm or involved or anything.] Aziraphale tried to figure out how to phrase it. [Just...I don’t feel like I have to constantly hold my breath around him.]

[Oh, angel.] Crowley sighed. [Yeah. It’s your family that’s not normal. I’ve had lots of fights with my folks but I never felt like I had to hide, you know, myself.]

[At any rate I’m going to be so happy to be back with you, darling. I can’t wait to kiss you again.]

[I’ve missed that, too, angel. Missed you.]

[That’s what I’m choosing to focus on. My family keeps commenting that I’m smiling so much.]

Crowley grinned a little. [The fact that you weren’t before says a lot.]

[I know. I do.] Aziraphale hesitated, then added, [You’ve opened up a whole new world for me.]

[You’re feeding my ego, angel.]

[Maybe I meant to.]

[Ooooh. Any chance we could call?]

[Yes. Tonight. With my parents.]

Crowley sighed. [Right. Guess I need to go do some lady laundry then. I don’t think I have anything ready.]

[I need to go too, I don’t think I can justify being in here much longer. Alone in my room.]

[Oh heavens. The horror. Shock. Wanting alone time just for the sake of it. However can they handle the scandal of it all.]

[Yes, yes. This evening?]

[You know it.]

It was another unsatisfying call, other than Crowley being pleased with his makeup. They didn’t get to call again, though, but finally, finally, Aziraphale got to come home.

It was godawful early in the morning when he said goodbye to his family at the gate—only his mother hugged him, and that was half-hearted—and he texted from the plane. [Finally!!!] Crowley wouldn’t be up for hours, of course, it was still nighttime in America, but it felt so good to be going.

Crowley had all the flight information, though, and even though it was still going to be early in America when Aziraphale landed, he got up while it was still dark out and drove to the airport. He arrived with half an hour to spare and waited in the parking lot, watching the arrivals, trying to see if Aziraphale’s plane was on time. It was, and when it had landed he drove up to the terminal.

Aziraphale came outside with his bag slung over his shoulder, white coat fluttering in the winter wind. Crowley zoomed up and opened the door and then Aziraphale was in his arms, kneeling on the seat, face buried against his neck. “I missed you!” Crowley was shocked—but realized he shouldn’t have been—when Aziraphale started to cry.

“Shh, angel—it’s all right, you’re home,” he murmured, hugging him tightly. “I’ve got you.” He was angry that they’d affected Aziraphale so badly, and he held on until the car behind them honked, and Aziraphale quickly put his bag in the back so they could drive off.

“You want to get some breakfast, Angel?” Crowley asked, as they wound their way out of the airport. “Before we head home? Little morning date?” he suggested.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, but I want to park somewhere and kiss you first.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, absolutely, angel.”

They ended up parking at a diner and doing quite a bit of kissing—only kissing, it was still a little too public—before going inside to eat. They sat on the same side of the booth, Crowley’s leg twined around Aziraphale’s ankle under the table, awkwardly bumping as they both ate, but unwilling to scoot apart.

They held hands for the drive back to Crowley’s—they hadn’t discussed it, but of course Aziraphale wasn’t going back to the dorms until he _had_ to—and Aziraphale told him all his stories from the trip, the good and the bad; transgressions by his parents, odd encounters with distant uncles who confused him with his brothers, heartwarming moments with cousins that had nearly led him to come out to them, only he wasn’t sure they could keep the secret, even if they were supportive.

At Crowley’s house there was no pretense made of watching a movie or any other activity, they just curled up in Crowley’s bed to be _close_.

“It was too long, angel,” Crowley murmured, nuzzling at Aziraphale’s neck.

“Well, we won’t be separated like that again,” Aziraphale said. “They’re not flying me back for spring break, I can stay here with you.”

Crowley just ached. A whole week in March wasn’t going to be much balm come April. He hated how much he needed Aziraphale.

Still, better to at least try and get his fill. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s throat. “That’s going to be wonderful.”

Aziraphale carded his hand through Crowley’s hair. “Of course it is. I’d rather be home with you for a week than do any of the crazy things you hear about.”

Crowley lifted his head and smiled. “We could do crazy things at home,” he teased. “Little bit closer than over Skype with an ocean between us.”

Aziraphale blushed. “That—that was fun,” he breathed. “But—“

Crowley sighed a little. “You’re not ready for more?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “Sorry.”

Crowley dropped his head to Aziraphale’s chest, where he could hear his heart. “No, don’t be sorry, angel. I’m really not trying to push, or anything. I just thought maybe you’d thought it over.”

“I can’t _stop_ thinking about it!” Aziraphale said. “I—it was wonderful. But it does rather feel like—getting close to the line. And more would be—well— _over_ the line.”

Crowley nodded. “There isn’t a line for me, angel. I’d have you right now. Anytime. Just say the word and I’m yours.”

Aziraphale shivered. “Very tempting,” he admitted. “I do want—“

“Could get you off without getting naked, probably,” Crowley mused, interrupting him.

Aziraphale sighed. “Still too much.”

“Could drop you back at school and you could video call me,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale batted his shoulder lightly. “Gabriel,” he pointed out.

“A cock and a cockblocker, somehow,” Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale sighed. “What if I’m just never ready?” he asked. “I—I just—“

Crowley kissed under his jaw. “Then we just kiss, angel.”

Aziraphale sniffled softly. “Why? Why do you even want me—“

Crowley sat up. “Because I like you, angel. You. You’re hot, sure, but I’m not _that_ superficial. I like you on the inside.”

Aziraphale sat up, too, to hug him, to bury his face against his chest. “I want you to be happy—“

“You make me happy, angel. I want sex. I don’t _need_ it.” He cleared his throat. “Managed without this long.”

Aziraphale pulled back and lifted his head to stare. “You’re—“

Crowley held up a hand. “Not a virgin, exactly,” he said. “Fooled around a bit. Before you. Haven’t done full-on penetration either way, but, you know. Not exactly pure as the driven snow, either.”

“...neither am I,” Aziraphale said. “Not after that call.”

Crowley kissed his forehead. “You’re not a bad person,” he said, gently. “Humans have urges and it’s all perfectly natural. Also...if it’s your parents or our teachers you’re worried about, you’re probably in for the same amount of trouble if they find out we kissed versus if they find out we had an all-day sex marathon.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “You—you’re probably right,” he admitted.

“Usually am,” Crowley said, cheerfully. “But the point is, Aziraphale, I like you. You know this. And I’m in this whether you’re ready to try sex or not. Rather hoping you are, or you get there, because I absolutely want to, but...it doesn’t matter.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I get it. You’re new to all this.”

Somehow it made Aziraphale want to rip off his own clothes right then, but he didn’t.

Crowley stroked his cheek. “Rather think you’d be happier if you just relaxed.”

Aziraphale leaned into the touch. “That’s probably true for everything,” he pointed out.

Crowley laughed and laid back down. “Yeah. You’re not wrong. They’ve really got you wound tight.”

“I’m unwinding,” Aziraphale said, and he laid down on Crowley's chest to kiss him and prove it.

* * *

Eventually Aziraphale did have to go back to school, of course, and even arriving right at the stroke of curfew felt too soon, even with his soft, new, pale blue scarf tucked snugly around his neck—lovingly placed there by the hands that had crocheted it for him. (Aziraphale’s present to Crowley had been a silver chain necklace; something he could wear no matter how he was presenting, and under his school uniform. Crowley had said apparently they were both obsessed with each other’s necks.)

Still, he was in a good mood when he put his baggage on the bed and started sorting out his clean clothes from his dirty laundry.

“Good vacation?” Gabriel asked him.

Aziraphale smiled, blushing, and nodded. “The very best,” he agreed, thinking only of the time he’d just spent with Crowley.

* * *

Life quickly settled back into their routine, starting with a Sunday, of course, because nothing could be easygoing—Sundays were both of their least favorite days. At least Aziraphale was free to text again.

The first day of classes was a bit of a shuffle, with a new schedule and new classes—Crowley and Aziraphale were quite pleased to be in more classes together in the new semester. They sat together every time, to absolutely no one’s surprise. They were too happy together to notice the way everyone seemed to resent or suspect their friendship.

Of course Sister Michael still tried to warn Aziraphale that Crowley was bad news, and Sister Uriel watched the pair of them with cold eyes, and all the teachers spoke to Principal Metatron at one time or another, but his hands were tied. The pair of them weren’t actually breaking any rules, at least that they had any proof of. Crowley and Aziraphale were too smart to take chances on campus. The absolute worst thing that could be said was that Crowley’s grades were slipping a little, but not enough to land him in detention—which was exactly by Crowley’s design.

Off campus was obviously another matter. Aziraphale went on just enough dates with “Ashtoreth” to avoid suspicion, and he and Crowley carried on to their hearts’ content in private. Aziraphale didn’t care a bit how Crowley dressed or spoke, he had just as good of a time.

The weeks passed swiftly. February felt like it came on suddenly, landing on a weekend. They got to school Monday morning and it was already the third.

Crowley nearly slept through assembly, like usual, until something caught both his and Aziraphale’s ear.

“The annual Valentine’s dance with Holy Cross will, of course, be held on the fourteenth as it lands on a Friday night this year,” Principal Metatron was saying. Crowley and Aziraphale turned to look at each other with wide eyes—of course everyone else knew about it, most of the students started at St. Bernadette’s as freshmen. “The traditional mixer with Holy Cross is going to be this Saturday. All of the pertinent times and locations will be on posters around campus and on our website.”

Aziraphale’s mind instantly went to dancing with Crowley, but reality set in and immediately dashed his hopes. Then he thought maybe Ashtoreth—but no. Crowley would need to make an appearance at the dance. If they were really only friends, Aziraphale supposed they might get away with going stag together, but he knew better. It was too much of a risk, the rumors would flare up again _at best_ —

Crowley was smiling. Aziraphale looked over as everyone shuffled out, since assembly had finished, and Crowley looked like the cat that ate the canary.

* * *

Crowley refused to discuss anything until after school. “Walls have ears,” he insisted. When they were finally in the car, on the way to the grocery store, only then would he discuss the subject.

“We can’t go together,” Aziraphale said.

“We can, sort of,” Crowley said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You have to show up, though,” Aziraphale said. “You can’t dress as Ashtoreth, you won’t be there and people will get suspicious.”

Crowley shook his head. “No. I know. Actually you should probably break up with Ashtoreth, while people fully believe and before we make some kind of misstep. Actually, you have to, or it won’t work. So get ready to be mopey all week, because as of right now Ashtoreth is dumping you.”

“Aww!” Aziraphale sounded genuinely disappointed.

“Keep that up!” Crowley encouraged.

“But you don’t mean—“

“No, I’m not breaking up with you, Aziraphale,” Crowley assured him. “But obviously we can’t go to this dance as boyfriends.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right, so—“

“But I _would_ like to go and see you all dressed up and have fun with you, even if we can’t dance together,” Crowley said. “So we will. Trust me, I’ve got it figured out.” Aziraphale lifted his pointer finger to protest and Crowley just pushed his hand back into his lap. “ _Trust me_.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I do trust you.”

Crowley smiled as he pulled into the grocery store. “Good.”

* * *

Aziraphale completely trusted Crowley, but he was still nervous when they got to the community center, full of their classmates and the Holy Cross girls milling around in their uniforms, trying to make connections and find dates for the dance.

“We can’t just lead these girls on, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, quietly but insistently.

Crowley chuckled. “Angel. _Trust me_ ,” he said, and raised his voice a bit. “Finding a date for next week is going to be _exactly_ the pick-me-up you need after all the mess with... _Ash_.”

Aziraphale put on a sad face in a nearly Pavlovian response after the show he’d been putting on all week. He’d nearly cried in class a few times Tuesday morning, and Crowley had made a big (loud) show at lunch of comforting him, and being there for his best friend through his painful breakup. As always, the gossip traveled fast, and Aziraphale took his classmates’ sympathy very seriously.

Crowley had complimented Aziraphale’s acting, and Aziraphale had kept it to himself that imagining it was Crowley actually breaking up with him that had helped bring on the tears.

“No one here could hold a candle to Ash,” Aziraphale said, sincerely. Ash was Crowley, Crowley was Ash, and Aziraphale couldn’t imagine anyone anywhere being as perfect for him as they were.

Crowley snorted. “Still. It’ll help you move on. I’d say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but I know _that’s_ not going to fly.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I just don’t understand—“

Crowley held up a hand. “ _Trust me_. Come on, let’s get some punch. Move around. We can’t scope out our dates if we’re just standing here.” He sauntered away, and Aziraphale hurried to follow.

With clear plastic cups of pineapple juice and Sprite in hand, Crowley led the way around the room, weaving between people, bumping a few shoulders, and it didn’t take him long to spot what he was looking for.

Up against the wall, standing in front of the bleachers—collapsed to make more room for the party—stood a pair of Holy Cross students, conversing with each other.

The taller one’s hair was cut in a severe, curly bob, even whiter than Aziraphale’s hair—Crowley assumed with the aid of bleach. Their eyes were such an icy blue that Crowley wondered if they were contacts, but they were just on the edge of unreal and he wasn’t quite sure.

The shorter one had a dark, messy bob, and carried zirself with such an authoritative air that ze was the one Crowley decided to approach. Aziraphale followed, but hung back nervously, still not sure what Crowley’s plan was.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” Crowley said, extending a hand during what seemed like an appropriate lull in conversation. “And Aziraphale Fell, lurking shyly behind me.”

The shorter one raised an eyebrow skeptically, but smiled crookedly after a second and shook his hand. “Bee Scaramouche,” ze said. “And this is Polly Rider.”

“Charmed,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “I’ll cut right to the chase. I get the impression you two are in the same boat as us.”

Bee and Polly exchanged a look, and Polly laughed as they looked the pair of them over. “You might be on to something.”

“Might be advantageous to appear like two totally normal straight couples at a dance?” Crowley purred. “A double date, but not the couples people are assuming?”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. “They’re _lesbians_ ,” he whispered, a bit like he’d been the first to spot some rare animal on a safari, and Crowley elbowed his arm. Aziraphale rubbed the spot with a pout. He should’ve realized. It seemed obvious now.

Polly shook their head. “Well. Sort of?” They shrugged. “I mean, yeah, we’re together, but we’re both nonbinary. I use they/them and Bee uses ze/zir.”

Aziraphale was even more surprised to hear that, he’d long assumed that Crowley would be the only nonbinary person he’d ever know.

Crowley grinned. “Me too!” he said, delighted. “He/him or they/them, but the latter only in stealth mode.”

Bee sighed sympathetically. “Catholic school’s a bitch,” ze said.

“Yeah, but I’m almost out,” Crowley said. “So, shall we, then? You two, myself, my sweet boyfriend here. Dinner at six, then the dance? Also, I have a car, we can drive you.”

Polly gave Bee a long look, both of them considering, and Bee finally nodded. “All right,” they said. “Might as well. Probably a better time than going stag together.”

Aziraphale nodded. “We can’t chance that,” he said. “They suspect...”

Polly winced. “Yeah. We get away with being together all the time because we’re roommates.”

Aziraphale pictured that for a moment, thinking of it sweetly—how much nicer it would be to share with Crowley than Gabriel. Crowley’s amused grin gave away that he knew what was going on _there_. “Living the dream,” he told them. “I’m off campus.”

“That sucks,” Bee said. “They don’t suspect us at all.” Polly grinned lasciviously, and then Aziraphale realized.

He was hit with a strong pang of jealousy.

Crowley nodded. “I mean, it’s practically Catholic tradition at this point, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Bee agreed, laughing. “There’s always some of us, every year.”

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale. “See? You’re hardly the first.”

Aziraphale blushed a little. Maybe his crisis over his faith was just common. Or maybe they were like Crowley and never believed in the first place. “I know,” he said, quietly. “You all just make it look easy.”

Polly looked at him sympathetically. “Not always. This is supposed to be, like, reform school for me.”

Bee chuckled softly. “Reform you right into your queer self,” ze teased, and Polly nudged zir with their elbow.

Polly rolled their eyes. “Anyway. It’s not like either of us get to be very open about it at school. Online, though. And with each other, and friends that don’t go to Holy Cross.”

“Counting down to graduation?” Crowley asked.

Bee nodded. “We’re going to college together. In New York. Away from all the _bullshit_.”

Crowley grinned. “I understand exactly. Can’t wait to get back to London and get started.”

“Exchange students?” Polly asked.

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Polly narrowed their eyes. “Punishment.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Not Aziraphale, though. He’s on exchange.”

Aziraphale smiled. Bee laughed. “It’s all right, not all of us can be rebellious.”

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale agreed with a shrug.

“He’s working on it,” Crowley said. “I’ve got him watching R-rated movies and listening to the devil’s music,” he added, cheerfully. “Catching him up with the rest of us.”

From there it turned into a discussion of what Aziraphale had and hadn’t seen, and Crowley had a list of recommendations on his phone by the end of the mixer.

“It’s going to take us forever to watch all of those,” Aziraphale pointed out to Crowley, on the way back to the dorms.

Crowley chuckled. “Well, we’ll try.”


	16. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation Fake Straight goes to the next level at the dual-school dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right after this chapter, I'll be posting a Good Omens Christmas fic! It's a human AU involving fake dating and Gabriel getting what he deserves. =) Subscribe to me if you want to know when it's up!

The next week felt quiet, until Friday, when the whole school was abuzz from the moment the first students arrived for assembly. Crowley couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit.

“It’s a dance, it’s not...I don’t know, a wedding,” he said. “We’re not going clubbing. It’s nice, it’s not...I don’t know, some major life event. It’s just a party, basically. A _chaperoned_ party.”

“You’ve been to parties that didn’t have chaperones?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’ve been _clubbing_ ,” Crowley told him, smugly. “Had a fake ID and all.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Incorrigible.”

“It was fun,” Crowley said. “You ought to try having some sometime,” he teased.

“That’s what tonight is for, isn’t it?” Aziraphale pointed out. He had very high hopes for the night.

Crowley let out an amused laugh. “I mean...it’s not the same kind of fun,” he said. He glanced around and dropped his voice. “If we were at a club, we could dance together, angel...”

Aziraphale had to fight a shiver. He knew it wasn’t going to happen for them that night but he couldn’t help but fantasize about it—dancing close, hips grinding together... He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Hopefully someday.”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah. Hopefully.” He liked the idea of it too, but it wasn’t going to happen in a sleepy New England town, it would have to be a London thing, and he and Aziraphale were never going to get London things.

Once school let out, Aziraphale brought his suit to change at Crowley’s and hang out with him until it was time to pick up their dates. After some deliberation Crowley decided to wear just a touch of eyeliner—“I’m not even winging it, how could they complain?”—and they both spent a bit of time preening before loading into Crowley’s car.

Crowley leaned in to take a deep sniff at Aziraphale’s neck. “You _smell_ different.”

“You noticed?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s a new cologne...”

Crowley grinned. “I like it.” He pressed a kiss against the sliver of neck he could get to above Aziraphale’s starched collar. Aziraphale closed his eyes and shivered, but of course Crowley pulled away all too soon, to back out of the driveway.

At Holy Cross a special line was set up for the girls that were getting picked up in cars. Crowley had Aziraphale text Bee as they got in line, and ze and Polly were waiting by the time they pulled up. Aziraphale gave up his seat to Polly, and sat in back with Bee—the dates chosen to line up that way purely based on relative heights.

“I know it’s not for me, but you do both look lovely,” Aziraphale said. Bee was in a silvery gray gown with a red sash, and Polly was in a white gown with black detailing, with a top half that somehow nearly looked like a zipped-up moto jacket, and was wearing smokey black makeup that set off their blond hair and icy eyes even further.

“Thanks,” Bee said. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“He’s charming,” Crowley said, fondly.

At dinner, the fake couples sat together, the real couples facing each other. Closer to the wall, Crowley even dared to play footsie with Aziraphale, hidden by the other two’s billowing skirts. Conversation was easy, since Crowley and Aziraphale had watched a few of their movie recommendations.

After dinner, they headed to the dance. The community center had been transformed, the lighting lowered (Crowley didn’t need his glasses), paper hearts hanging from the ceiling by strings, romantic music playing, a proper dance floor set up this time.

Aziraphale was enchanted, he’d never been to a dance in his life, despite the skill being drilled into him for etiquette’s sake. It made him think of a wedding, only this was for everyone.

“Oh, of course they’re not going to play anything with a beat, are they?” Polly complained. “It’s going to be all slow dances and ‘leave room for Jesus,’ isn’t it?”

Bee shrugged. “How much dancing were you going to do anyway?” ze pointed out.

Crowley managed to slink close enough to whisper to Aziraphale, “Happy Valentine’s, angel.” Aziraphale grinned and blushed, and elbowed him away gently.

They got their picture taken as a group, Crowley and Aziraphale seated on chairs in front of their dates—both pairs could crop each other out later easily enough.

They did dance, some, close together, no one with their eyes on their dance partner.

Gabriel passed the four of them with his date on his arm. “You two are from Holy Cross?” he asked Bee and Polly, seemingly surprised.

Bee laughed. “We’re not all squares all the time there.” Ze smiled at Gabriel’s date, who didn’t seem to agree.

“I can’t believe you got a Holy Cross girl to date you,” Gabriel told Aziraphale. “I can’t believe you got a _second_ girl to date you.”

“Ash doesn’t know what she’s missing!” Crowley interrupted, and Bee nodded emphatically.

“Aziraphale is a perfect gentleman,” ze agreed. “A wonderful date.” Gabriel didn’t need to know why.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I—right. If you say so. Well—we’re going to dance.” He led his date far, far away from the group of what he considered losers.

After a while the two pairs split up for a bit, Bee and Polly wanting to talk to some Holy Cross friends. Aziraphale got a cup of punch and stood in an out-of-the-way corner with Crowley.

“Having a good time, angel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled ruefully. “I still... _really_ miss Ash. I wish I was here with her.”

Crowley rolled his eyes a bit. “You’ve got to get over her. Bee seems nice!” They’d all had a decent enough time at dinner, and if Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t going back to England he might even be willing to put effort into a friendship.

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “Yes...but... _Ash_. Ash was just so perfect.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get back together with Ash,” Crowley said. “But she’s not here tonight and Bee is.” He grinned. “You ought to make a move.” Obviously Aziraphale wouldn’t.

Aziraphale drained his clear plastic punch cup. “I’ll pass...I don’t think I’ve ever had punch like this. I think I’m going to get another cup.”

Crowley nodded. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

Only he wasn’t. Polly came back over to him. “So...I have some friends who came without dates,” they said. “You think maybe you could dance with them a few times? Just, you know, so they’re having fun?”

Crowley chuckled. “How many of them don’t know they’re lesbians yet?” he joked.

Polly shrugged. “Probably half?” they said, sincerely. “Still.”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley said. “Lead the way.”

Aziraphale didn’t mind any more than he minded when Crowley had been dancing with Polly. He stayed by the wall, drank his punch, content to watch for the moment. When his punch was gone he got a third cup, and then he wanted to dance.

He nearly went to get Crowley away from the girls, but no—that wasn’t allowed. Stupid rules. It wasn’t fair, he should be allowed to dance with Crowley. But he couldn’t, so he found Bee instead. “Would you like to dance some more?”

Bee shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”

When Polly saw them, they got Aziraphale dancing with their friends, too. Aziraphale found dancing to be thirsty work, in the end, and when he finally left the dance floor for good, he’d had a few more cups of punch in between, and Crowley brought him one more. “Having a good time, angel?”

Aziraphale grinned at him, a bit dazed. “Yeah, of course I am, I’m—been dancing!”

Crowley nodded. “I saw! You were really cutting loose! Didn’t know you had it in you!”

Aziraphale laughed and leaned on Crowley’s shoulder. “I love dancing,” he said, as if he hadn’t always shied away from anything but a box-step or a proper _waltz_. Tonight on the floor, though, he’d copied a few moves he’d seen Crowley doing in his room when they were alone.

Crowley frowned a little, and tilted his head to study Aziraphale’s carefree expression. “Angel...” He took a sip of his own punch, and immediately put the cup down on the closest chair, and took Aziraphale’s, too.

“Hey! I like that!” Aziraphale protested.

“I’m sure you do,” Crowley agreed. “No more, though. You’re cut off. Sit here.” He led Aziraphale to another chair and swore under his breath as his boyfriend stumbled on the way. “Give me your wallet.”

“What?” But Aziraphale was already pulling it out and handing it over.

“I’ll pay you back later,” Crowley promised, as he took out twenty-five dollars. “Here.” He handed the wallet back, and Aziraphale fumbled to get it back into his pocket. “Do _not_ get up from this chair,” he ordered.

Aziraphale pouted. “That’s not nice—“

“Trust me, angel,” Crowley said. “I’ll be right back, just—stay. Please?”

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “Right back?”

Crowley nodded. “In a jiffy. Half a jiffy. Just _don’t move_.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, but he didn’t get up.

Crowley slipped through the crowd and found Polly, and pulled them aside. “I’m so sorry, I know we were supposed to take you back, but here, this should be enough for a cab—“

Polly frowned as he held up the money. “What? Is everything okay?”

Crowley leaned in to whisper in their ear. “Aziraphale’s drunk. I’ve got to get him out of here before the chaperones catch him.”

Polly let out an “ohh” of understanding. “Right. I mean, we can probably hitch a ride back to school with someone...”

“Just take it,” Crowley said. “I feel terrible, you did us such a huge favor. Honor. For being our dates.”

They nodded and took it. “Right. Well, we had a good time, but hurry and get him out of here.”

Crowley sighed in relief. “Thanks. And don’t drink the punch.” He hurried back to Aziraphale—who still looked annoyed at being bossed around. “All right, angel, we have to leave. It’s almost over anyway, let’s get out a little early and beat the rush...” He bent and started tugging Aziraphale to his feet.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “I—I feel funny.”

Crowley sighed. “Funny lightheaded, or funny in your stomach?”

“...both.”

“Right, we should get you home, then,” Crowley said. “Get your stomach settled. Come on.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll take care of you.”

That seemed to do the trick, and Aziraphale got up, and went with him willingly.

Crowley felt the eyes on them, both the other students and one or two of the chaperones, but he managed to get them away and to get Aziraphale into the front seat. He slipped into the car and locked it behind them. “Angel. Buckle up.”

“I was having fun,” Aziraphale complained. “Why—“

“Angel, you’re drunk.”

The words seemed to startle Aziraphale out of it. “I am not—“

“Someone spiked the punch, angel, you’ve probably had like—how many cups did you have?”

Aziraphale tried to remember and count on his fingers. “I—I’m not sure...”

“Well, it was strong. Maybe half a shot per cup. And have you ever had alcohol?” Crowley asked, as he backed out of the parking space.

“Wine,” Aziraphale said. “At Communion...”

Crowley snorted. They'd talked about that. “Of course. Still, half a sip isn’t going to build your tolerance enough to handle that much vodka. Good thing you had a nice, big pasta dinner. Hopefully we can get you home before you get too sick.”

Aziraphale started to cry. “I didn’t mean to! Why did they give me vodka?” he wailed.

“It’s okay,” Crowley said. “They didn’t catch you and we’re going home.”

“But Gabriel—“

“No!” Crowley snapped. “You’re crashing with me tonight. That prick will never know.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, and wiped at his face awkwardly. “Stay over?”

Crowley nodded, with a fond smile, pleased that Aziraphale seemed to be excited about it. “Yeah. You’re sleeping over.”

Aziraphale tried a little harder to clean himself up, to get his head on straight, to not feel so...off-kilter. He wasn’t so sure he liked being drunk. “You won’t tell anyone?”

Crowley chuckled softly. “Of course not, angel. I’ve told you this before, what would I get out of getting you in trouble? And I’m not a snitch.”

Aziraphale nodded and pressed his face against the window. It was cool and felt nice, sort of countered the bumping of the car as far as his stomach was concerned. “I don’t have clothes...for sleep...”

“It’s fine, angel, just try not to get sick,” Crowley said. Finding him clothes to sleep in was the least of their worries.

Aziraphale groaned softly. “Yeah. Window,” he murmured. Crowley didn’t even answer, and he shut the music off. He knew exactly what Aziraphale was going through.

Crowley pulled up at his house without incident, thankfully. He’d gone slow, not wanting to upset Aziraphale’s stomach nor get pulled over with a drunken underage person in his car. He tugged Aziraphale inside. “Right. Come upstairs. I’ll loan you a shirt...” They stumbled up the stairs together and Crowley started trying to help Aziraphale out of his suit so he wouldn’t get it dirty. Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, not minding being stripped, exactly, until he suddenly put a hand to his mouth.

Aziraphale stumbled to the bathroom, Crowley close on his heels, and the pasta dinner ended up (neatly, to Aziraphale’s credit) in the toilet.

Crowley, who had done all of this before with people he cared about a lot less, went about giving Aziraphale some water to rinse his mouth, and some aspirin, setting him up to sit on the counter. Aziraphale started crying again. “I’m putting you to so much trouble...”

Crowley had already dealt with the mess. He wet a washcloth and started gently wiping Aziraphale’s face. “Shhh. You didn’t get wasted on purpose. We made it home, didn’t get caught, it’s all fine.”

“That feels nice,” Aziraphale murmured.

Of course it was just as Crowley nudged between Aziraphale’s legs and pressed a kiss to his forehead that Hastur poked his head in, to the sight of Aziraphale stripped down to boxers and button-down, and Crowley cuddling close.

Crowley pulled away with a groan. “Someone spiked the punch,” he said. “It’s okay. I’ve got him.”

“You drove?” Hastur asked, frowning.

“I only had a sip,” Crowley said. “Just enough to taste the vodka. And then we left.”

Hastur nodded. “Make him sleep on his side.”

“Yeah, I know,” Crowley said. “Won’t let him choke.”

“I could choke?!” Aziraphale wailed.

“Shh, no, I won’t let that happen, angel,” Crowley rushed to reassure him, and kissed his forehead again.

Hastur chuckled. “You’re in for a long night.”

Crowley groaned. He was hoping the throwing up was over for the night, but he still put a fresh bag in the trash can in his room and put it right beside the bed, once he’d walked Aziraphale in there and gotten everything settled. He helped Aziraphale out of his button-down and he shouldn’t have been surprised to find a t-shirt underneath, but somehow he was. “Comfy?” he asked, as he sat at the desk.

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes, nodding. “Yeah...” He still seemed a little confused, but not upset at least. “I’m sorry. How did you know?”

Crowley started carefully taking his eyeliner off. “Know what, angel?”

“That the punch was bad.”

Crowley chuckled. “It was pretty good, actually, and if we’d been at a party and I wasn’t driving I would’ve had more. But I wasn’t going to chance it there.” He shook his head. “I could taste the vodka, though, and next time you will, too.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t wanna next time.”

“That’s all right,” Crowley said. “But you might change your mind when you feel better.” He got on the bed with Aziraphale, moving around him to hug his shoulders from behind. “You should be okay when you wake up. If you wake up and need to puke, the bin’s right there, aim for that.”

Aziraphale leaned back on him. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m not mad, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed. He couldn’t explain.

“Are you sleepy?” Crowley asked. It wasn’t terribly late, but it felt like a long night. When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley laid down. “Come here, then, be the little spoon.”

Aziraphale laid on his side and Crowley curled around him. “Still comfy?”

“Yeah,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding sad somehow, and Crowley just nestled closer, nose to his shoulder.

“I’m right here, wake me up if you need anything.”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're 3/4 through now


	17. Enthusiasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley try something new.

Aziraphale woke with a bit of a headache that he correctly identified as coming from dehydration, but he almost didn’t feel it anymore when he realized that Crowley was wrapped around him. The night before came back to him in bits and pieces, and he winced. His mind couldn’t have done him the favor of leaving him with the parts where he’d been cool and suave. At least Crowley had been.

He stirred, and disturbed Crowley. “Angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, throat creaky. He put a hand over Crowley’s. “I—I don’t think I remember everything...”

“Six-ish shots of vodka’ll do that to you,” Crowley muttered. “Punch got spiked, you developed a taste for vodka, I gave our dates cab fare and got you the fuck out before you got in trouble.”

Aziraphale rolled onto his back to look at him. “I...threw up?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, hit the toilet like a bullseye. It was almost impressive.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “How do you feel now? I fed you aspirin, should’ve helped. You didn’t throw up in the night, yeah?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t...I’m hungry,” he said. “Thirsty.”

Crowley smiled. “Then we should go down and have breakfast.”

Aziraphale nodded and moved to sit up, and suddenly covered himself as he realized what he was wearing. “Oh—did I—“

Crowley shook his head. “No, I helped,” he said. “Not in a pervy way, just didn’t want you to ruin your suit if you did throw up again.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “Oh—oh, you—“

“Hung it up,” Crowley assured him. When he sat up Aziraphale hugged him. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard—“

“I’m still—you took such good care of me,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m glad.” His faith wasn’t misplaced.

Crowley shrugged. “Come on. Breakfast.” He loaned Aziraphale his robe, pulled on some sweatpants, and led the way down. He made oatmeal, coffee, and tea for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was quiet for a while, pondering everything. “Your uncle—“

“Already saw. Won’t get you in trouble,” Crowley said. “I’ll take you back to school tonight, like always.” It was Saturday and Aziraphale would’ve been over anyway.

Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the table. “Missed curfew last night.”

“Not like they called you,” Crowley said. “It—wasn’t curfew pushed back for the dance anyway? Did they even check?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said. “I thought I’d be back by normal curfew.”

Crowley shrugged. “Your record is perfect. Just tell them it was so late by the time we dropped our dates off you decided to just crash with me instead of being up even later. Might talk your way into it not going on your record.”

“Hopefully,” Aziraphale said. “I’m more worried about my parents.”

Crowley sucked in a hissing breath. “Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe they won’t find out?”

“That’ll be part of the begging for clemency,” Aziraphale said. “That they won’t report to my parents. I’m probably doomed, though.”

Crowley felt his throat go tight. “Blame me,” he said. “You can tell them you wanted to come back to the dorms and I wouldn’t drive you and you didn’t have a choice.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I won’t throw you under the bus like that. I might be in trouble but you’d get expelled.”

“I don’t care,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I won’t wreck your chance at your future,” he insisted.

Crowley got up to put his dishes in the dishwasher. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t have one,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale pouted a little. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”

Crowley turned his head sharply. “What?”

“I don’t want to argue today, and everything went wrong last night,” Aziraphale said, burying his face in his hands.

“You didn’t have a good time?” Crowley asked. “I mean, obviously the throwing up wasn’t fun, but—before—you were dancing and smiling—“

Aziraphale looked up. “I had plans!” he said. “And—and that kept me from doing any of them.”

Crowley sat down at the table. “What plans?” he asked, gently. “We could always try and—and do them on a date sometime—“

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I—I thought—it would be so romantic, and—and after we dropped them off—you and I could—could find a place, and—“ He leaned back in his chair, biting his lip. “We could make love.”

Crowley immediately went rigid in more ways than one, and he was glad the table was between them to hide it. “Angel,” he breathed. “You...you realize there’s _nothing_ stopping us from doing that right now, right?”

Aziraphale gasped. “Well, just—we were in the suits—and you looked so good with the eyeliner and I just...”

“When did you decide you wanted to?” Crowley asked.

“...before the mixer,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley smiled. “So before you even saw any of that?”

“You looked so pleased about getting to go to a dance, sort of with me...you looked so happy...” Aziraphale said.

“I’m happier now,” Crowley said, honestly, feeling fit to burst with it. “And I will take you upstairs and have you right now, if you feel ready. I can put the suit back on if that’s what was doing it for you,” he added, with a wink.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Honestly? It looked like our uniform...but the vest...” He motioned towards Crowley in his tank top and sweats. “ _That’s_ working for me.”

Crowley came around the table, cupped Aziraphale’s face in both hands, and kissed him deeply, Aziraphale’s head tipping back. He looked a little dazed when Crowley pulled back, and they stared at each other for a moment.

“I want you,” Aziraphale breathed. “Right now, let’s—I want to.”

Crowley let go of his face to grab his hands and help him up, and he backed towards the stairs with him, looking at Aziraphale with a whole new level of appreciation and reverence. He knew exactly how much more of a step it was for Aziraphale than him. “I’m going to be so good to you, angel—“

“You’ve been good to me,” Aziraphale said. “From day two,” he teased.

Crowley winced a little. “Can’t believe I almost missed out on you.” He had to look away to get up the stairs without falling, but he clung to one of Aziraphale’s hands the whole way to his bedroom. Once they were in he locked the door, and he hurried to put on some music—not too loud, not to be distracting, but enough to help cover the noise they were about to make.

They faced each other then, both nervous, and Crowley slid closer to slip his robe off Aziraphale’s shoulders. They let it drop, and Crowley pressed forward, pushing Aziraphale to the wall. Aziraphale let his fingers daintily wander over Crowley’s sides, pulling him closer as they crashed together in a heated kiss—more heated than ever, since there wasn’t going to be any putting on the brakes this time.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s shirt up, and this time Aziraphale lifted his arms over his head, giving permission, breaking the kiss only so Crowley could finish the task. He immediately grabbed at Crowley’s shirt, too, tugging up, and Crowley reached with one arm to grab at the back of the neckline and pull it over his head in one fluid motion.

Aziraphale stared, agape. “That—that was hot,” he breathed.

Crowley grinned. “We’re only getting started.” He backed towards the bed, still rumpled from where they’d slept, and Aziraphale followed as if he was under an enchantment. Crowley took his hand and pulled him close to hug him tight, and then spun them so he could nudge Aziraphale onto the bed.

Aziraphale barely had time to register the delicious feeling of skin on skin before suddenly he was on his back looking up at Crowley—but then he realized that all that was between their hips was two pairs of underwear and some very thin sweatpants, and there was no disguising how much either of them wanted this. Crowley started kissing at all his favorite spots on his neck, and his cock twitched in anticipation. “Oh, Crowley—” he breathed, wrapping a leg around him. Why had he ever fought this?

Crowley rolled his hips down. “Going to make you so happy, angel,” he said. “Can I touch you now?”

It sounded a little ridiculous given how much of each other they were touching, all the sparks going off between them, but Aziraphale appreciated it anyway, that even at this point Crowley wouldn’t just assume, and he nodded. “Yes— _please_ ,” he panted.

Crowley slid his hand down along Aziraphale’s stomach, and then stroked his cock slowly, over his boxers. “Thick, angel,” he murmured, nuzzling against his collarbone. “Fuck—bet you’re gorgeous, all flush right now...”

Aziraphale shivered in pleasure. “You can find out,” he said.

Crowley grinned and shifted back, and he wasted no time tugging Aziraphale’s boxers off, and taking a long look at him. “Fuck, angel, why’d you ever want to hide all this from me?” He straddled Aziraphale’s thigh and leaned over him, kissing at his neck, and he stroked loosely at his cock. “So pretty...thick and gorgeous, wanna ride you, angel...”

Aziraphale moaned loudly enough that the music didn’t do much to cover it. “Yes!”

Crowley grinded his hips down, biting his lip. “That what you want to do first?” he asked.

“I—want to see you,” Aziraphale managed to say.

Crowley slid the rest of his clothes down, sweatpants and snug black briefs, off his ass, pushing them down just enough so his cock popped out, and Aziraphale sat up on his elbows to look, and then before he could lose the nerve, he reached out and touched, first a gentle brush of fingertips that made Crowley shiver, and then a firmer stroke. Crowley closed his eyes, moaning. “Fuck—”

“Yeah,” Aziraphale murmured. “We are—we’re—”

Crowley chuckled. “You _would_ make a pun now,” he said, but he wasn’t angry. How could he be, with his angel spread naked under him, touching him? Only Aziraphale stopped. “What is it?”

“Get them off,” Aziraphale said. “Lay down with me.”

Crowley got off his thigh and kicked out of the clothes, and then they laid facing each other. “What do you want, angel?” he asked, as they watched each other, vulnerable, about to take the leap off the cliff that they really couldn’t take back.

Aziraphale slid his arm around Crowley and moved close until they were completely pressed together. He shivered lightly as their cocks bumped together. “Just you.” He rolled his hips and Crowley groaned softly.

“Just this?” Crowley whispered, moving a hand between them to keep their cocks pressed together as he started to move in tandem with Aziraphale.

“We’re not only doing one thing, right?” Aziraphale murmured, nuzzling at Crowley’s neck. “Just—starting slow, working up...” He closed his eyes and moaned.

Crowley nodded. “Fuck yeah,” he assured Aziraphale. “Keep you here with me all day...”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes. Please.”

Crowley moved a little faster, focusing on pleasing Aziraphale, on getting off, more motion and less words, though he watched Aziraphale intently, to be sure it was working. Aziraphale writhed against him, letting out little gasps of pleasure. Crowley rubbed his hand over the heads, spreading precome as much as he could, and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale was moaning, coming in his hand. Crowley’s eyes went wide, and he let himself go right after, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “Fuck, angel, you see what you did to me—”

Aziraphale was panting as he came down. Crowley licked his hand clean like he had on their video call.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale smiled warmly, watching him. “That—that was wonderful.”

Crowley kissed him softly. “Good,” he murmured. “More where that came from, angel.” He rubbed Aziraphale’s back in small circles. “Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of touching you.”

Aziraphale sighed happily. “I don’t think I’ll get enough of looking at you...not that there was much left to see...”

Crowley wriggled his hips teasingly. “But you like the view.”

“I like the view,” Aziraphale agreed.

“I missed some of the come,” Crowley said, with an eye on Aziraphale’s stomach. “Mmm...can’t have that.” He got up and knelt over Aziraphale, and bent his head to lap up the mess with his tongue. Aziraphale shivered at the sensation, and Crowley pressed a kiss there, too. Then he pressed kisses to Aziraphale’s hips, and the crease of his thigh. Aziraphale stroked a tender hand through his hair. It only took him a few minutes to have Aziraphale hard again. “Can I?”

Aziraphale realized what he meant, and rolled onto his back to give Crowley more space to work. “I want to do it for you, too,” he murmured.

Crowley chuckled. “An offer I could never refuse.” He knelt between Aziraphale’s legs and gave his cock a lick from base to tip.

“Fuck!” Aziraphale cried. “That—”

“Yeah, wetter is better,” Crowley agreed. He was glad to be doing this for Aziraphale, who he cared about so deeply, and not just some guy he barely knew. Aziraphale deserved to feel this good, and Crowley knew why, and wasn’t just offering it up out of curiosity. With that in mind, he took it slow, lapping slowly along the underside of Aziraphale’s cock, loving the sight of Aziraphale writhing, arms thrashing a bit on the pillow. The moan Aziraphale let out when Crowley sank his mouth over the head went straight to his own cock, but he could wait. He’d wanted to get on his knees for Aziraphale almost as long as he’d known him and he was going to make sure he did it right.

Aziraphale sat up again to watch, and the sight took his breath away, Crowley’s lips stretched around him, golden eyes watching him for signs of pleasure—he could barely believe it was happening to _him_ , after all the things he’d said. Aziraphale panted happily as Crowley bobbed his head, sucking at him.

Crowley started rolling Aziraphale’s balls between his fingers, too, and Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from screaming out. Crowley pulled off to shake his head. “Mmm, no, let me hear you, angel,” he murmured, before going down again. Aziraphale cried out in pleasure, hips twitching up, wanting more. Crowley was willing to oblige, and with a slight shift of his shoulders he was taking Aziraphale deep into his throat, nose bumping against Aziraphale’s downy hair.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale panted, thinking vaguely of the time or two Crowley had compared himself to a snake. “Oh, it—you— _yes_ —”

Crowley laughed a little, throat vibrating around Aziraphale, and that was what did it—Aziraphale came with a sharp cry. “Crowley!”

Crowley didn’t pull off until Aziraphale’s cock stopped twitching in his throat. He sat up with a grin. “Gorgeous,” he murmured. “Thick...wanted to taste you for so long...especially since the video call,” he said. He licked his lips, looking down at his beautiful boyfriend. “I’ll go down on you _anytime_ , angel.” It was far more satisfying, watching Aziraphale, seeing how responsive he was, than anything else he’d ever done.

Aziraphale smiled languidly. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased. “And anyway...” He sat up, slowly, and slid his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, kneeling in front of him as he moved in for a kiss. “It’s your turn.” He pressed their lips together, nudging his thigh against Crowley’s hard cock. If he’d ever had any doubts that Crowley was attracted to him, they were long gone.

Crowley threaded a hand into Aziraphale’s hair with a shiver. It was more surprising to him that Aziraphale actually wanted to play fair than it should have been—his past exploits had been with less than scrupulous partners and he was just used to that. But Aziraphale was _different_ , and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected that to apply in bed.

Aziraphale pulled back and kissed along Crowley’s neck. “Mmm. Actually...can you sit on the edge of the bed?” he asked. “Put a pillow on the floor for me? I probably won’t be able to—to do what you did—deepthroat—”

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale hit a particularly sweet spot. “I—yeah,” he agreed. “Takes practice. Bananas,” he said. “I, um—if you want.” He grabbed a pillow and dropped it on the floor, and Aziraphale scooted off the bed, kneeling on it. Crowley moved to the edge of the bed and spread his legs.

Aziraphale was nearly on eye-level with Crowley’s cock, and he pressed a kiss to the tip. He moved in a little closer so he could kiss each hip, too, like he’d fantasized so many times, before moving back to the head. “Gorgeous,” he murmured, before lapping softly. “Oh, this—this is going to be fun.” He took the head in his mouth and sucked on it, and Crowley gripped at the blankets.

“Angel—angel, _fuck_ , that—that’s good—” Crowley panted. As if he’d expected anything less. Aziraphale looked up with those baby blues and Crowley couldn’t help but smile down at him. “So good...”

Aziraphale tongued softly at the slit. He’d somehow been expecting it to taste more strongly, but it wasn’t much different than kissing Crowley’s skin on any other part of his body. He slid his hands up Crowley’s thighs to grip gently at his hips, and started bobbing his head.

Crowley’s face was stunning as he lost himself to the pleasure. No one had ever done that for him before and it was more intense than he’d been expecting. He put one hand behind himself to keep upright and threaded the other fondly in Aziraphale’s curls. Aziraphale would’ve smiled, but as it was he just leaned into the touch as he kept moving.

Crowley was quickly panting and falling apart. “Angel,” he breathed. “Fuck, angel—yes—“ His voice was quieter than Aziraphale’s but no less intense, especially as he got close to the edge. When he came it was with a strangled sort of cry, hand tightening in Aziraphale’s hair. “Sorry—“ he mumbled, as he let go.

Aziraphale pulled off and shook his head. “No—didn’t hurt,” he assured him, and he put a hand to his lips. He’d _done that_ , he’d had Crowley’s cock in his mouth and he’d gotten him off and he’d _enjoyed_ every second. “I’ll do it again,” he said. “Anytime, like you said...I...” He nuzzled his cheek against Crowley’s inner thigh, looking up at him. “I liked that. Pleasing you.”

“Get up here,” Crowley said, affectionately. Aziraphale got up and sat next to him, and Crowley pulled him down so they were both lying sideways across the bed, arms all tangled together, and Crowley kissed his forehead. “You’re brilliant. I liked it, too. Both. All of it.”

Aziraphale smiled against his neck, glad to hear he hadn’t messed it up somehow. “I don’t think I got to tell you, really...you’re gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than I imagined.”

Crowley chuckled. “Angel...you’re beautiful, all right? Every glorious soft curve. It’s a crime that they make you wear clothes.”

“No, that’s you,” Aziraphale said. “You must be a time traveler. You went back and inspired all those statues in Greece.”

Crowley laughed brightly. “Even your compliments are nerdy.” He kissed Aziraphale softly. “You’re _precious_ , I hope you know.” He didn’t say “precious to me,” but it was what he meant. He ignored the sudden thought of April, the moment was too good. Instead he poured out his affection in the way of more soft kisses, down Aziraphale’s jaw and neck, that made Aziraphale laugh softly.

“I could stay here all day,” Aziraphale murmured.

“You will, right up until curfew,” Crowley said. “Fuck, angel, I don’t want you to ever leave this bed.” He nipped lightly at Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Mark me,” Aziraphale murmured. “You’ve already—we—go ahead,” he encouraged.

Crowley bit down a little and sucked, working up a mark and working Aziraphale up again, the blond gasping and moaning under him. He kept kissing Aziraphale’s body, down his chest, down to the soft flesh of his stomach. “Mmm—” He lifted his head. “Get up, go lay on the pillows, get comfortable, angel,” he murmured.

Aziraphale moved and did as he was told, laying back against the headboard, with the pillows under him. “You want to...?”

Crowley grinned. “Fuck yeah, I do,” he said, rummaging in his nightstand. “Got this, a little while ago, just in case.” He held up a bottle of water-based lube. “S’nice for a wank, absolutely vital for this.” He got in place between Aziraphale’s legs. “You want to?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded, eyes wide and blown with lust. “Yes.”

Crowley grabbed a condom, too, and tore the wrapper to get it started before his fingers were too slippery to do it. He drizzled the lube across his fingers and tried to let it warm a little. Aziraphale adjusted, spreading his legs and planting his feet, so his hips were tilted upward. “Is—can you reach, is that good?”

Crowley glanced down at the sight before him. “Perfect.” He rubbed his fingers gently over Aziraphale’s entrance. “It shouldn’t hurt,” he said. “If it does, tell me to stop, all right?”

Aziraphale’s breath seemed to have caught in his throat, and he nodded. “Right.”

Crowley massaged for a moment before he pressed a finger in. Aziraphale made a bit of a face, but it didn’t hurt, exactly. “You all right?” Crowley asked.

“It’s...strange,” Aziraphale said. “Not—painful, just...”

Crowley nodded. “It gets better,” he assured him, as he pushed slowly deeper. “Done this to myself and didn’t even get anywhere the first few times. Took me a few tries to figure out the sweet spot.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “And you think you’ll find mine the first time?”

Crowley had worked his way just deep enough, and he crooked his finger up, rubbing, waiting—

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. “There—there there _there_ —”

Crowley chuckled. “What were you saying?” he teased.

“You found it,” Aziraphale said, breathily.

Crowley kept stretching him, adding a second finger, scissoring his way out, occasionally teasing Aziraphale’s prostate just to keep him hard, keep him wanting it. He watched Aziraphale, drank in the sight of him blissed out like that, and was immensely pleased to be doing that for his angel. “Just a little more,” he murmured, and added the third finger. He held still to let Aziraphale adjust to the stretch.

“It—it’s a lot,” Aziraphale breathed.

“You’re almost ready,” Crowley assured him. “I’ve got you, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded, and pulled him down by the back of the neck for a kiss. Crowley moaned softly against his lips, writhing against him. He was ready to move on to the next part, to take his angel, but he was going to take it slow, do it right, do it to please Aziraphale.

Aziraphale let him go and stared up at him. “Do it,” he murmured. “I—I think I’m ready.”  
  
Crowley pushed his three fingers deeper. “You sure?”

Aziraphale moaned. “ _Please_.”

“Right.” Crowley slipped his fingers out, wiped the lube off on his cock, and hurried to get the condom on. “Fuck—” His cock twitched in anticipation, and he added just a little more lube. “Right.” He moved closer, leaning over Aziraphale, a hand braced on the headboard, the other helping to line himself up. They both moaned when Crowley pushed inside of him.

Aziraphale stared up with wide eyes. “Oh—” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “Don’t stop _now_ ,” he said. “C’mon...”

Crowley nodded and let himself slowly sink deeper, his hips sliding closer and closer to Aziraphale’s until they were pressed completely together as he’d bottomed out. “Fuck, angel—”

“Yes! Do!” Aziraphale said, laughing a bit. It stretched, there was the slightest bit of a burn, but it wasn’t painful, and he wanted to feel the drag against his prostate. Crowley nodded and started rocking his hips slowly. He cupped Aziraphale’s cheek and kissed him deeply as their bodies dragged together, and Aziraphale practically whimpered under him. It was just _so many_ sensations all at once, every one of them pleasurable, and he couldn’t keep still. He writhed side-to-side, and Crowley kept driving in and out, and it was the best thing either of them had ever felt.

Crowley lowered his head to kiss Aziraphale’s neck, which only made him moan even louder, and be grateful that they were at Crowley’s house and not somewhere where they’d have to be quiet, try to stay stealthy. “Angel—” Crowley groaned, speeding up.

“Your angel,” Aziraphale murmured. “So good—don’t stop—”

Crowley didn’t, he just kept his mouth on Aziraphale’s neck, though he was too distracted by pleasure to stick to any one move for long. Aziraphale closed his eyes and panted softly, running his hands up Crowley’s back.

“Close, angel?” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s cock. It only took the slightest of touches, a few brushes over the head, and then Aziraphale was coming, nearly screaming, his body taut as a bowstring. Crowley had known it would do that, but it still caught him off guard when it happened, when the sudden pressure pulled him right over the edge, too. He buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder as it rolled over both of them, lasting a bit longer than the previous ones.

“...fuck,” Crowley breathed, going slack against Aziraphale.

“We did,” Aziraphale murmured, turning his head to kiss Crowley’s cheek. “I’m glad.”

Crowley smiled against his skin. “Good,” he murmured. “No regrets?”

“Not a one,” Aziraphale said. Going to hell might just be worth having that moment, but he wasn’t even sure anymore that he believed that would happen, anyway. If anything he had to believe it wasn’t an accident that he’d crossed paths with the incredible person currently wrapped in his arms, that they’d been meant to find each other. They’d both grown so much because of each other—his life was on a totally different trajectory now because of Crowley.

“Good,” Crowley whispered. “Because...this should not be a one-time thing.”

“Agreed,” Aziraphale murmured. “Should be all the time.”

Crowley chuckled. “Happy to oblige,” he murmured. He snuggled closer, and then thought better of it and slipped out of Aziraphale so he could toss the condom. Aziraphale groaned softly at the loss of contact, but Crowley hurried to cuddle close again and toss a leg over Aziraphale’s hip.

They drifted off like that for a little while, but Crowley woke up around lunchtime, and woke Aziraphale up with gentle kisses to his neck. “Hey, lover,” he murmured, grinning.

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “Hi,” he breathed. “Are you hungry?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah...gave me a bit of a workout,” he teased. “C’mon. I’ll make you lunch.”

It didn’t take much convincing, and it took even less convincing to tumble back onto the bed after lunch, to strip down again, and roll together naked some more.

“You wanna do it this time?” Crowley offered. “Be on top?” he asked, even though he was straddling Aziraphale’s hips, grinding down against him.

Aziraphale grinned. “...you want me to _fuck_ you?”

Crowley closed his eyes. “Careful, if you keep swearing like that I might come untouched,” he joked.

Aziraphale popped his hips up. “You want to try that, or do you want to give me the—the—” He motioned towards the nightstand.

“Lube, angel, if you can say fuck, you can say lube.” Crowley grabbed the bottle and dangled it from his fingertips.

“Lube,” Aziraphale said, and snatched it. “You want to stay right there?” he suggested. “I can—stretch you?”

Crowley grinned. “Hell yeah!” Aziraphale slicked up his fingers and wrapped an arm over Crowley’s hip, watching him writhe above him as he started to finger him slowly. Crowley drove his hips down onto Aziraphale’s finger, eager for him. “Want you, angel—” he murmured.

“Have me,” Aziraphale told him, working his way deeper. “Have all of me, have anything you want...”

Crowley groaned softly. “Yeah—angel—” He rocked back, tipping his head back.

Aziraphale traced his free hand up his torso, caressing his stomach and chest as he stretched. “So gorgeous...”

Crowley laughed. “Feel pretty gorgeous like this,” he murmured. “With my _lover_ touching me there...s’better when you do it.”

Aziraphale smiled. “What about this?” He slipped in a second finger, and Crowley moaned in response. “Good? You like that?” Aziraphale’s cock twitched in anticipation at the sound. Crowley could only nod, clenching around his fingers. He was even less capable of speech when Aziraphale stroked over his prostate, letting out a sharp, pleased cry as he rolled his hips, trying to chase the sensation. “Not too fast,” Aziraphale reminded him. “There’s more coming.”

Crowley let out a breathy laugh. “Want that—so bad,” he murmured. “Want to ride you...”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. Keep Crowley right where he was, up top, watch him grind those snake hips down on his cock... “Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “Absolutely that.”

Crowley grinned. “Gimme more, then,” he said. “Third one’s easier.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t have realized, but when he thought back, that did seem to be true, so he added another finger. Crowley rocked down again. “Yes!”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “Glad I’m making you happy,” he murmured. “Hope you’re about to get a lot more happy.”

“Think I will,” Crowley said. “Fuck—I—don’t stop, I’m almost ready, promise, angel...” He leaned over and got a condom from the drawer for Aziraphale. “Want me to put it on you? Do you know how?”

Aziraphale laughed a little. “I’m not supposed to, but yes. But...yeah, put it on,” he said.

Crowley tore open the packet and rolled it on with deft fingers, even with the distraction of fingers inside him. He tossed the wrapper towards the trash can and missed, but he could get it later. For the moment he concentrated on rolling his hips in tiny circles, relaxing, getting stretched out and ready.

Aziraphale loved the sight of Crowley’s hands on him, and even more so the sight of Crowley experiencing pleasure like this. “You think you can take me now?” he asked, breathlessly.

Crowley nodded. “Mm—yeah. Just—help me balance.”

Aziraphale pulled his fingers out and took Crowley’s hand instead. Crowley shifted, moving up, so Aziraphale’s cock was behind him, and he took it in hand to help guide it. Once the angle was right, he let himself slide down in one swift movement, enveloping Aziraphale, who moaned at the sudden pressure. Crowley grinned, rather pleased with himself, and he leaned forward, bracing both hands on Aziraphale’s chest, so he had maximum freedom of movement in his hips. “Good?”

Aziraphale nodded, panting. “Best,” he murmured, and popped his hips up with a grin, making Crowley gasp in return.

“I’ve—I’ve got it, angel.” Crowley rocked slowly, letting his body adjust, though the slow drag of it was exquisite. “Fuck, you—you’re— _fuck_.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s hips, trying to keep himself still under him, not actually wanting to overwhelm him. “So _tight_ ,” he murmured. “Crowley—” He ran his hands along Crowley’s shifting thighs.

Crowley was trying to keep it together, not sure how long he’d last. “No—angel—so _thick_ ,” he murmured, rocking slowly. “Fuck, the real—real thing—so much better,” he panted.

Aziraphale laughed happily. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Better than video, better than dreaming...”

“Had a _lot_ of dreams about this,” Crowley said, clenching lightly around him, making him gasp. “Just like this...you...getting to see every inch of you...touch you...”

“Saw most of you, this is still... _so_ much better...” Aziraphale murmured. “Crowley...”

“Gonna have to start wearing prettier underthings,” Crowley mused. “Now that you’re finally looking.”

Aziraphale’s cock twitched inside of him. “Oh—oh, yes,” he breathed. “Please do, if you have them...”

“I do,” Crowley assured him. “Lacy things...sometimes I wear them to school, only—you never noticed, angel...” He tipped his head back with a groan. “Bet you’ll be paying attention now. I could send you a picture every day...”

“Fuck...” Aziraphale murmured. “Yeah, please, I—I want to see...”

Crowley started moving a little faster. “Fuck, angel...gonna come so hard...” Aziraphale smiled a little and wrapped his hand around Crowley’s cock. He didn’t need to stroke, Crowley was doing enough moving to get friction, but Crowley moaned happily to be getting it. He rolled his hips more forward-and-backward after that, instead of straight up and down. “ _Fuck_ —”

“Want to,” Aziraphale said. “Can—can we—flip over?”

Crowley let out a throaty laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. He leaned down to lay on Aziraphale’s chest, and they managed to roll over so Crowley was on his back instead, without Aziraphale slipping out—not an easy feat, but one helped by Crowley’s loose hips. “All right, angel... _fuck me_.”

Aziraphale wasted no time, driving in exactly as he was told. Crowley sprawled like a starfish under him, letting go, letting Aziraphale take control and please him. Aziraphale stayed close, face nuzzled to his shoulder, so Crowley was still getting friction on his cock from Aziraphale’s stomach, too. “Crowley—” he moaned.

Crowley nodded. “Good—good, angel—close—” Aziraphale was relentless. It felt so good, he couldn’t help but chase their climax, but Crowley was eating it up—it made him happy to see Aziraphale finally completely cut loose, to see that he wasn’t timid when it came down to it, which could’ve easily been the case. “Yes! Angel!” He scratched his nails along Aziraphale’s spine and it just made Aziraphale go harder.

Crowley arched up sharply when he came, one arm flailing, and Aziraphale went still, burying himself as deeply as he could. Crowley grinned when he felt Aziraphale coming, the twitch of his cock inside him. “Fuck...”

Aziraphale pulled out as soon as he was done, and laid down on his back next to Crowley, eyes wide. “Incredible,” he breathed.

Crowley rolled closer and kissed his cheek. “Yeah...that was _awesome_.”

Aziraphale turned and smiled warmly at him. “I thought I was going to go my whole life...and never...I was _insane_. What on Earth was I thinking?”

Crowley laughed hard enough that he flopped back onto his back again. “Glad you saw reason,” he teased. “That—that’s the best I’ve ever done, too...what’s that thing they say? You made up for inexperience with enthusiasm. Fuck.”

Aziraphale shrugged a shoulder. “How could I not be enthusiastic about it with _you_?” He rolled closer and put his hand on Crowley’s chest, over his heart. “I’ve never...felt anything like this. I don’t just mean physically.”

Crowley leaned up and kissed him softly before he could say something to ruin the moment. Thankfully it worked, Crowley didn’t think he could take a declaration of love just then. He stroked Aziraphale’s cheek. “How do you feel? You think you’re ready to...get up, face the world now that you’ve been deflowered?” he teased.

Aziraphale laughed a little and dropped his head against Crowley’s chest. “'Deflowering' makes it sound awful...it certainly didn’t feel awful.”

Crowley nuzzled at his hair. “No, it certainly didn’t.” He kissed his forehead. “You thirsty? I'm thirsty.”

Aziraphale chuckled and sat up. “Yes. Thirsty.”


	18. Apprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

They made it through a movie (downstairs, with Hastur present) before baser urges took over again.

“I thought we were just kissing?” Aziraphale asked, with Crowley latched to his neck, grinding their hips together on Crowley's bed.

“We _were_...” Crowley mumbled. “Can I blow you again?”

They didn’t have to both get fully naked for that, but they did. Crowley went about it in a much more teasing way this time and got come splattered across his cheek for his trouble, but he didn’t mind—and Aziraphale didn’t mind cleaning it up with his tongue, which led to his tongue wandering to other places, of course. Aziraphale ended up fingering Crowley open again while he was sucking him off, and then it seemed like a waste _not_ to fuck again, with Crowley being all open and ready.

Crowley had Aziraphale sit up against the headboard, and got into his lap, sinking down on him, back to Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale groaned and kissed Crowley’s shoulder. “My goodness...”

Crowley sighed happily. “I like this.” He pulled Aziraphale’s arms around himself. It wasn’t just getting off together, he was quickly becoming obsessed with the intimacy of it.

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his stomach and started trailing down. “I like you.”

Crowley rolled his hips slowly. “Could drag it out for a while this way...”

“Good,” Aziraphale murmured, as he started stroking Crowley’s cock. “Maybe I’ll have time to count your freckles.” He kissed one of them softly.

Crowley laughed a little. “Comes of—mmm—being ginger...”

“Maybe I’ll give you more,” Aziraphale said. “Some people call them angel kisses, you know.”

“Well then I’m going to end up being one giant freckle, aren’t I?” Crowley said, as Aziraphale kept pressing kisses along his shoulders. “Your mouth has been _everywhere_...”

Aziraphale laughed. “It won’t take much,” he agreed. He stroked a little firmer, a little faster, and Crowley leaned back against him with a happy groan. He rolled his hips side-to-side and Aziraphale moaned against his shoulder.

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Crowley groaned. “Thought—you’d want—missionary with the lights off—“ He was quite happy that that wasn’t the case, he wanted to try a whole Kama Sutra worth of positions with Aziraphale.

“But then—I wouldn’t get to look at _you_ ,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And it— _feels_ good—“ He moaned again as Crowley drove down particularly hard. “I—I want you to—to be happy with it, too— _fuck_ —“

Crowley laughed. “I’ve driven you to swearing? Oh—I—I _have_ done well...” Aziraphale rocked upward, sharply, but it only made Crowley laugh again, this time from a spike of pleasure. “Angel!” he said, grinning. “You—you really are taking to this...”

Aziraphale ran his hands along Crowley’s thighs as they moved together. It took longer, the angle wasn’t conducive to speed, but when Crowley came, it was long and intense and had him gripping at the sheets. Aziraphale came with him, inside him, biting down on his shoulder.

Crowley fell back against him afterward. “I like that, the biting,” he murmured. “Fuck, angel—you’re really good at this.”

Aziraphale hummed softly. “I feel dirty.”

Crowley turned to kiss his cheek. “No—no, angel, it’s natural and—“

Aziraphale cut him off with a laugh. “I mean I want a shower, I think. And then I should probably pack up and you should take me back.”

Crowley groaned. “It’s not that late.”

“It’s getting there,” Aziraphale said. “And it will be that late if we both shower.”

Crowley tipped his head. “We could shower together, save time...”

He was very wrong about that.

Somehow he ended up pressed to the wall with Aziraphale rutting against him, and it took just as long as if they’d gone separately.

Worth it, even if Hastur saw them in the hallway, both just in towels. No explanation was needed, requested, or given.

“You’re going to need to quit smiling like that,” Crowley informed Aziraphale, as they got dressed together, no shame. “It’s going to be like when we started dating, all over again.”

Aziraphale paused in doing up his buttons. “Oh, no,” he said. “Hadn’t you heard? I just got back together with _Ash_.”

Crowley grinned. “Brilliant!”

* * *

Crowley sighed heavily when he pulled up at St. Bernadette’s. They only had time for a few quick kisses before he had to go through the gates. It had been worth it, but he still wanted more.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Aziraphale said. “Text me.”

Crowley gave him a weak smile. “Don’t be late getting in. I’ll talk to you soon, angel.” Not soon enough.

* * *

Sunday passed as quietly as it always did, with its usual frustrations, even with Crowley sending Aziraphale a selfie in a lacy red pair of panties just because he finally could.

Monday morning was a disaster.

It didn’t seem like it at first, Crowley and Aziraphale took their usual seats and paid their usual amount of attention. On the way out of assembly, Sister Michael caught Aziraphale by the arm. “Come with me, please.”

Crowley gave him a worried look, but Aziraphale waved him off. Crowley headed off to class, but not without a rising panic.

Aziraphale followed Sister Michael. “May I ask—“

“Just wait,” she snapped. She escorted him right into Principal Metatron’s office and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to sit.

“We’ve had a rather disturbing report, Fell,” the principal said.

Aziraphale went scarlet. How could anyone possibly know what he and Crowley had done? He hadn’t told a soul. The hickeys were all out of sight. Crowley certainly didn’t talk to anyone else—

“You didn’t make curfew after the dance Friday night,” the principal continued.

“Your roommate said you never turned up,” Sister Michael said.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Oh—oh, no—that—that’s correct,” he admitted. “I should have come straight back, but—I rode with Crowley when he drove our dates back to Holy Cross. It—it just seemed gentlemanly, not to—to leave them alone with him. And I missed curfew, so I had to make other arrangements.”

Sister Michael and the principal exchanged a look. “Where did you go, dear?” Sister Michael asked.

“I stayed with Crowley, of course,” Aziraphale said, easily. “What else is a best friend for?”

She winced. “That _is_ what Harper said you’d say.”

“It’s the truth!” Aziraphale said.

“Are you aware of the rumors about yourself and Crowley?” Principal Metatron asked him.

“I’m aware,” Aziraphale said. “Is no one else at this school friends with each other?” he asked. “Is that fair, when he and I both brought dates to that dance?” Aziraphale got out his phone and pulled up one of the pictures of the four of them, though he wouldn’t let either of them take his phone lest they flick through and see the last photo he’d saved. “And when I have a girlfriend?” He pulled up one of the photos of Ashtoreth to show them.

“I heard she broke up with you,” Sister Michael said.

“We got back together over the weekend,” Aziraphale said. “She was jealous of my date.”

Principal Metatron raised an eyebrow, that clearly, insultingly, meant _him? This one has two girls after him?_ “Well—it’s still a curfew violation,” he said, after an uncomfortable pause.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, it was an accident. We just miscalculated how long it would take. And, again, I went with Crowley so they wouldn’t be alone with him. For accountability,” he said. “We thought we were making the wisest decision. There was no intention of breaking any rules.”

“You know what they say about good intentions,” Sister Michael said to the principal.

Aziraphale tucked his phone away. “So—there’s no room for simple mistakes?” he asked. “You just have to be perfect, you can’t do a wrong thing accidentally now and then, even if it happens when you’re trying your best?”

He thought of Crowley‘s expulsions. Completely unfair, and they weren’t even trying to put the fear of God into him.

He completely understood, suddenly. Crowley wanted out of a system that was going to treat him unfairly no matter how well he behaved—there was no fresh start for him at St. Bernadette’s where everyone had already heard about things he had done, with no context, before he ever had the chance to make an impression. He couldn’t even express himself without being damned in the court of public opinion, over utterly stupid things like nail polish or long hair.

Sister Michael sighed. “It is a fairly serious infraction,” she reminded him.

“But it’s my first one ever,” Aziraphale said. “Not just here. _Ever_. Look at my transcripts!”

Principal Metatron had the folder handy. “We did discuss that, after Harper came to us.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps...”

“I’m just asking for a bit of mercy,” Aziraphale said. “For my good intentions and clean record to be taken into account.”

“We could just tell his parents,” Sister Michael said.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “No. No, no, no, they’ll pull me out, make me go home—I want to finish the year here—“

Both of them turned to look at Aziraphale and his sudden panic. “That sounds like we _should_...” the principal said.

Aziraphale looked from one to the other, and shook his head. “Please. I don’t want to go back to England and disappoint them. I’m nearly done here. And, furthermore...it isn’t right to subject me to a punishment from them. I _am_ an adult,” he said. “Have been for two months. And—I can face consequences without them. I’d rather—prove I can handle this on my own and if that means a punishment, so be it.”

Principal Metatron had steepled his fingers, listening to Aziraphale’s case. “Perhaps...something that wouldn’t go on your transcript,” he mused. “A punishment appropriate to the crime.”

Aziraphale felt he’d dug his hole deep enough, and didn’t object to its being called a crime, though somehow it chafed to hear it. He reminded himself that the truth—getting drunk at his age, inadvertent or not—actually was a crime, and stayed quiet.

“We could have him clean blackboards and such,” Sister Michael said.

The principal shook his head. “I was thinking...yes. Fell, you are forbidden to leave campus for one week,” he decided. “Until after class Monday, a week from today, you are not to leave the grounds.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank. When was he going to get to spend time with Crowley? But he couldn’t say that. They’d just have to text, and campus being what it was, they’d have to do without touching, which seemed an especially heinous punishment after finally getting to touch Crowley the way he’d fantasized about for so long. They wouldn’t even get their Saturday.

He had a wild thought that Crowley would be angry with him over it, but pushed it aside. He knew better than that. Crowley cared for him.

“Fell?” Principal Metatron prodded.

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale said. “No leaving campus.”

By the time the secretary got him the excuse note for his first-period teacher, class was nearly over. As Aziraphale made his way to the classroom, the bell rang and all the students flooded out. He expected them to rush past him like always, but this time they gave him a wide berth. He could practically feel the rumors forming. He actually saw one student whispering in another’s ear behind the shield of a hand like they were all in some teen drama show.

The many, many eyes on him were unbearable.

Reputation was everything at St. Bernadette’s, and Aziraphale was nearly certain he’d just lost his good name.

He had his second class with Crowley, and Crowley looked very worried indeed when Aziraphale took his seat. Aziraphale slumped at his desk and buried his face against his arms.

“What happened?” Crowley asked, voice quiet and tight with fear.

Aziraphale sat up straight and shook his head. “I talked them out of a black mark on my record,” he said. “And out of telling my parents.”

Crowley frowned in confusion. “But that’s good!”

“No, they’re not letting it slide,” Aziraphale rushed to clarify. “I—I can’t leave campus. For a week. Not until next Monday.”

Crowley had to tamp down his reaction, especially since their teacher was walking in. “Bastards,” he grumbled, quietly. Of all the rotten luck, their finding the one punishment that actually hurt.

Aziraphale sighed. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t—“

The bell rang, curtailing any possible discussion. Aziraphale was a bit glad to have something else to concentrate on.

Crowley cornered him in the hallway as soon as class let out. “What are we going to do?” he asked, lowly.

“It isn’t _your_ problem,” Aziraphale said with a sigh.

“Damn right it’s my problem,” Crowley said. “What am I going to do without you, angel?”

Aziraphale scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I—I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t leave, if you want to see me—“

“How late is the library open?” Crowley asked.

“I—haven’t been...since you showed up...” Aziraphale said. “I think until curfew.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. Well. Then we have at least one place to hang out.”

Aziraphale looked at him absolutely adoringly. “Oh—“

“Oh, don’t get all in a tizzy. You can’t see Ash, I can’t let you die of loneliness,” Crowley said, more grumpily than he actually meant, and Aziraphale schooled his face appropriately.

“Right. What about dinners?” Aziraphale asked.

“Can we get pizza delivered, maybe?” Crowley asked, a bit sheepishly since he wouldn’t be able to pay for it.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, or—cafeteria,” he said. “Though of course that means other people.”

Crowley bit his lip. “Maybe better to avoid attention.”

“Ah. Yeah,” Aziraphale agreed. “Delivery.” Whatever it took to see Crowley, he didn’t mind paying for.

Crowley did not allow himself to feel relieved yet, but he did start heading to class. “C’mon. We’ll—it’ll be all right.” He didn’t love the idea of being that close to Gabriel for so long, but he was willing to sacrifice whatever it took for every possible minute with Aziraphale while seeing him was still an option.

They only had two months and counting, after all.

* * *

After school, Crowley stuck with Aziraphale until he was required to go home, at curfew. Mostly they stayed in the library, or in the lobby of the library when they had their dinners—it was too cold outside—but they never went back to Aziraphale’s room. It was too risky, there was never any telling when Gabriel would be there. Aziraphale was even less aware of his schedule since the semester change.

On Wednesday, when they’d caught up on all their homework, email, social media, everything they reasonably could do together in the library, Crowley got bored. “You know, angel...I’ve heard there’s some really interesting rare books back in the stacks,” he said.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes, it’s a Catholic school library, what do—“

“We could go look!” Crowley said, grinning.

Aziraphale stared at him, confused.

Crowley rolled his eyes and got up. “Going with or without you, angel.” He strode away, deeper into the library. Aziraphale hopped up and rushed after him.

“Whatever are you on about—“

Crowley turned and shushed him with a finger to his lips. “It’s a _library_ , for fuck’s sake, angel,” he whispered, grinning behind that finger.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he followed silently, up to the second floor, past many shelves, definitely far away from where any of the staff was likely to be—and then he understood, and smiled.

Crowley pulled him into a dark corner, finally taking his hand, and led him down to the end of the shelf. He nudged Aziraphale back against it, and Aziraphale yielded easily. “We’ll get in trouble...” he said, weakly.

Crowley shook his head. “No cameras, no one’s—we’re alone, angel, and I haven’t gotten to kiss you in _four days_.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. It had been their goodbye kiss at curfew Saturday. “It’s been hellish,” he murmured, grabbing at Crowley’s lapels.

“Just...quiet,” Crowley said. “No moaning.” He leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, slow and lingering, fighting to take his own advice about noise.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but let out a tiny whimper. Crowley pulled back and shook his head, finger against his lips again. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him closer as he pressed wet kisses to his neck.

“Oh—not fair,” Aziraphale whispered, fighting to keep quiet.

Crowley chuckled softly. “Could be worse,” he murmured. “Finally got you back in my arms at least.”

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin so he could kiss his lips again—at least that way, if moaning happened, it got muffled a little.

Crowley broke the kiss with a soft laugh when he realized Aziraphale was getting hard. “Is that—“ He laughed a little more. “Is that a banana in your pocket, angel?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what that is. And what it looks like, what it tastes like, what it feels like up your—“

Crowley had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing loud enough to attract attention.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to kiss at his neck, and that killed the laugh, replacing it with a happy sigh. “Angel...”

Aziraphale pulled him close again. “Not like I’m the only one anyway...” He rolled his hips up, and Crowley shuddered softly.

“You’ve got me,” Crowley murmured. “Monday night I’m going to fuck your brains out...”

“Please,” Aziraphale whispered. “I can’t wait.”

Crowley paused, considering. “Mmm. Angel...we don’t have to wait...” he murmured.

“Where, Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. “Where on earth—“ The restrooms were impeccably clean but not clean enough, they couldn’t go back to the dorm because of Gabriel, they couldn’t risk Crowley’s car and it was cold anyway—

Crowley hit his knees.

Aziraphale grabbed a handful of his hair to keep him back. “Crowley! We can’t—“

Crowley lifted a finger to his lips. “Can, angel, who’s even upstairs?”

It wasn’t like they were close to a window, Aziraphale realized. It was sort of dark, the timers had set the library’s lighting lower for the night. He loosened his grip.

“Don’t have to get naked,” Crowley murmured. “Just—unzip, you know...keep _quiet_...” He leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against Aziraphale’s cock, and even with all the fabric in the way Aziraphale shivered. “Yeah? Just—just a little something, get us through to Monday...”

“I thought—you said you didn’t _need_ —”

“That was before I’d had you, wasn’t it?” Crowley murmured. “Now I know what I’m missing.”

Aziraphale hesitated. He wanted to, hell, it was practically his ultimate fantasy, but the idea of getting caught was exactly the opposite. It had taken him a long time to be naked and vulnerable for Crowley, with affection and trust built up between them; the idea of being caught in a compromising position by anyone _else_ was mortifying—enough so that he might have gone soft had Crowley not kept on _touching_ him, cheek against his erection.

“I—“

“Good Lord!” came a feminine voice from the other end of the shelf.

“Fuck!” Crowley swore, leaping back, his back crashing against the shelf, but it was old and made of solid oak, and it didn’t budge. Aziraphale turned to see who it was, eyes wide like the proverbial deer in headlights, and Sister Uriel was rushing towards them as if they hadn’t already separated.

Aziraphale felt woozy, and he wasn’t sure if it was the shock of being caught and the worries that immediately flooded in, or if it was from his hard-on going down at a record pace, thankfully.

Sister Uriel hauled Crowley to his feet by his collar, and he pulled away from her, hands close to his chest as if he was preparing to defend himself physically.

“What do you two have to say for yourselves?” she demanded.

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he’d never said a word in his life and was still practicing. Crowley searched for a second and came up with “His shoe was untied?”

“He’s wearing loafers!” Sister Uriel snapped. “You all wear loafers! It’s the uniform! Come on!” She grabbed both of them roughly by one shoulder and marched them away.

“Principal’s office?” Aziraphale asked, miserably.

“Principal’s office!” Sister Uriel agreed, sternly.

“Is...is he even there?” Crowley asked. “Does he _live_ here?”

“Shut your mouth,” she ordered.

Principal Metatron wasn’t there, because he did not, in fact, live in his office. Sister Uriel planted them both on a bench outside his office, and then thought better of it and made them sit on separate benches. She paced between them while she called the principal.

Crowley waved his hands towards Aziraphale, encouraging him to make a run for it, but Aziraphale shook his head. No point in that. Consequences would be doled out regardless of if he was there, he might as well be present.

It was an excruciating twenty minutes while they waited for the principal to get back to school, and Sister Uriel watched them nervously, as if she might suddenly catch the queer and turn into a gay man. She wouldn’t allow either of them to speak. Aziraphale sat primly. Crowley played Candy Crush.

Once they were all situated in the office, Principal Metatron leaned back in his chair. “Fell. We heard nothing from you for so long and now you’re in here twice in a week.” He frowned at Crowley. “You were the one I was warned would be in here often. You’re dragging him down.”

Aziraphale expected Crowley to have some kind of smartass retort ready, but he sighed and looked down, not answering.

“Right. What’s the problem, Sister?” the principal asked.

“I was checking to make sure no one was in the library, I was going to lock the upstairs, and I caught these two—“ Sister Uriel tried to think of how to phrase it and only came up with a disgusted shudder.

“I was going to suck his _cock_ , if he would’ve agreed,” Crowley offered, all confidence again. He hated the idea of dragging Aziraphale down to his level, but he was going to own his actions, at least.

Aziraphale shivered at the way he pronounced the dirty word, in spite of everything.

“Have you no shame?” Sister Uriel snapped.

Crowley shrugged. “Not about sex. Now, tell me what the punishment is for trying to seduce a good little choir boy and—“

“No!” Aziraphale said. “You’re not taking the fall, Crowley.” He turned to the principal. “We’re together. Him and I. We’re a couple, have been for months.”

Crowley gaped at him. “Angel—no—you—“

“Hush,” the principal said. “Now, this sort of conduct is obviously strictly forbidden—“

“Dating?” Crowley asked.

“Same-sex dating,” the principal explained.

Crowley thought back to when they’d changed the dress code over his nail polish. “Is it?” he asked. “Could you show me, in the handbook, please?”

Principal Metatron paused. “You—“

“You can’t enforce a rule that isn’t written down. If I have no way of knowing that rule, it isn’t fair,” Crowley said. “And that wouldn’t be very Christian, not being fair.”

Aziraphale thought of a few examples he could use to argue against that—at least of people claiming to be Christian. But of course he kept silent.

“I—“ Principal Metatron hesitated.

“Surely there has to be something,” Sister Uriel said, getting up to pull out the official student handbook.

Aziraphale and Crowley watched each other nervously, but after several minutes the two slack-jawed administrators had to concede defeat.

“Couldn’t the general honor code apply...?” Principal Metatron mused, referring to a clause regarding sinfulness and upholding the school’s standards by interpretation.

Crowley smiled. “Not if I don’t believe I was committing a sin. Separation of church and state says you can’t dictate what I _believe_.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Oh yes. Quite a lot of law behind that sort of thing. And we were hardly in flagrante delicto, Crowley was just kneeling. All our clothes were on.”

Crowley could not have been more proud of Aziraphale and all the tricks he’d somehow picked up—and Aziraphale had the squeaky clean record and reputation to make it work.

Sister Uriel was fuming. “You were about to—“

“You have no idea what we were about to do,” Crowley said. “You couldn’t prove that. What I said earlier, I was just being sarcastic. That would be crazy, trying to blow someone in the library. Insane. Who would actually _do_ something like that?”

“Can she even _prove_ that we were doing what she’s implying?” Aziraphale pointed out. “It’s two against one. Nuns can lie. They’re not supposed to, of course, but everyone here seems to have it out for Crowley.”

Principal Metatron frowned, trying to come up with a counter-argument, but it wasn’t as if they had security cameras up there.

Crowley and Aziraphale were nearly convinced they’d gotten away with it.

Sister Uriel shook her head. “Fell. We’ll tell your parents.”

Crowley’s heart dropped to his stomach. They were fucked.

Aziraphale lifted his chin. “Tell them what? That Crowley’s my beau?” he asked. “They already know. They’ve talked to him on camera. They approve.”

Crowley grinned. His beautiful bastard boyfriend had actually learned how to lie. “It’s true,” he said. “I could show you the Skype call history.”

Principal Metatron furrowed his brow. “I thought your parents were...more conservative,” he said, confused.

“They want me to be happy,” Aziraphale said. It was sort of true. They just wanted to decide what would make that happen, and couldn’t.

Crowley smiled. “So, I believe we’ve established that there’s been no infraction of any actual rules here.”

Principal Metatron looked back and forth between them, grimly. Sister Uriel looked ready to give them both a beating. Everyone was silent for a long minute.

“Fine,” Principal Metatron finally said. “Nothing to be done here tonight. But both of you watch yourselves, and expect some new rules to be added to the handbook.”

“Which you can’t enforce retroactively,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Right,” he grumbled. “Both of you out of my sight.”

Aziraphale and Crowley wasted no time fleeing the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the same handle on twitter, if you want to say hi over there =)


	19. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale loses all interest in keeping secrets, for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is set in the 2019/2020 school year, which is a blink-and-you'll miss it detail, but you CAN calculate it if you look at the dates and the days of the week they land on. HOWEVER, since this chapter explicitly mentions that it's 2020, I'd just like to clarify that this is also an AU in that this world doesn't have a global pandemic happening in 2020.
> 
> (Here's hoping someone finds this note in like ten years and has to do a double-take. Leave me a comment if that's you, I plan to still be around these parts haha)

The next morning, of course, assembly ran long, as a supplement to the handbook was passed out and the new rules put on the projector and discussed.

There was to be no kissing, no sexual contact, no physical contact of any kind outside of sports, really. No displaying of rainbows or “other LGBT+ symbols.” The school couldn’t outright ban same-sex dating relationships in 2020 without risking a major lawsuit, but by God they could ban any expression of them.

As the students filed from the auditorium, Aziraphale stopped in the hallway, and Crowley had to halt and turn back.

“That’s it!” Aziraphale said, loudly. “That’s it, I’m out, I’m not doing this anymore!”

Crowley froze. It was too many restrictions, too many rules to worry about breaking, he was going to call it all off—

Aziraphale stamped his foot. “I’m gay! I have a beau! And I’m not lying about it any more!” He took a deep breath and grinned.

Crowley grinned back at him. “Good for you, angel!” He waved a bit at the crowd. “I’m the beau,” he said, delighted.

“What do you want, a cookie?” one of the passing students asked.

And honestly, it seemed like almost all the crowd was wondering the same thing.

Nobody _cared_. Everybody talked, but secrets were far more interesting than everything being in the open.

Aziraphale dug in his bag and pulled out a pen. “Crowley. Here. Grab on.”

“What?”

Aziraphale held on to one end of the pen. “Grab on. We can’t touch but—“

It clicked for Crowley and he grabbed the other end. They headed off to class, and while they couldn’t walk hand-in-hand they were definitely _together_.

* * *

A couple of teachers tried to harass them, but Crowley and Aziraphale were model citizens. They did not break a single rule, even though word spread fast. People were talking, but only the teachers seemed to be concerned. For other students it was just gossip. “Always had Fell pegged for gay, the tall one could’ve gone either way,” and the like. The news that Crowley had worn a dress on Halloween went around again, but even that wasn’t terribly eyebrow-raising. The entire school had suspicions that he was a little _weird_ , but who was he hurting?

It could’ve been so much worse, all things considered. Aziraphale had always written off being out as too scary, but it turned out to be a lot less scary than the thought of losing Crowley.

Crowley was basking in it. He was used to being a pariah. He practically thrived on it, like a cactus in a desert. And it was Aziraphale that had put them there this time, no pushing needed.

Crowley was _so damn proud_.

At the end of the school day Sister Michael pulled Aziraphale aside, like she had a few times before, only this time she looked so _sad_ that Aziraphale wondered if maybe she was going to say something tragic had happened to her, a grandmother had died or something. “Can I...help you?” he asked her, as he took a seat on one of the desks in the front row.

“Well, Fell...I’m worried about you,” she said, and Aziraphale was surprised that his first reaction wasn’t to be pleased that someone was looking out for him. He had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes, actually. He wasn’t so innocent as he once was.

He took a deep, calming breath. “I can’t imagine why.” He could, but he wasn’t interested in hearing it.

She pressed her lips together. “It’s about you and Crowley,” she said, and even though it was bound to be a bad conversation, Aziraphale smiled to hear someone else say “you and Crowley.” Sister Michael frowned. “Is it true? You’re...”

“Dating him,” Aziraphale said. “Yes. He’s my beau.”

Sister Michael winced. “You’re aware of what the Bible says about homosexuality?”

“Precious little, actually,” Aziraphale said. “Most of which has been bungled in translation, from originally referring to pedophilia or prostitution, neither of which is happening here. Christ himself never had a single word to say on the topic.” He’d done the research, when he couldn’t spend time with Crowley.

Sister Michael’s mouth dropped open, and she made herself close it, then she shook her head. “It goes against the teachings of the Church—“

“Oh, Crowley doesn’t believe in those anyway,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not dragging him down.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you believe?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I—I’m doing a lot of thinking right now,” he said. “And research. I have a hard time believing in anything that says love is bad.”

“Oh. Oh, no,” she said. “It may feel like love, but—it could never be. Not really,” she said. “If you can’t settle down and have a family—“

“Adoption,” Aziraphale blurted. “Surrogacy. There are ways—“

“Ways, but down that road is only—deceit, and heartbreak—broken families—“

“Did you know that same-sex marriages have been allowed in the Netherlands since the seventies?” Aziraphale asked. “If God’s going to go around smiting anyone for it, do you really think He’d wait fifty years?”

“What the law of the land does or does not allow has nothing to do with what’s right in God’s eyes,” Sister Michael said. “And you know better than this.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily. “I don’t know anything better than being with him.”

She spoke lowly, resolute. “He’ll break your heart, Aziraphale.” It was a desperate plea, trying to play on his emotions—last names were standard and she was trying to seem closer to him.

Aziraphale stood and shouldered his bag. “He already did,” he said, firmly. “When he told me how he’d been treated by the likes of you.” Sister Michael was too stunned to answer before he left the room.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale holed up that afternoon in the library, chaste as ever, though they made no attempt to hide their heart-eyes for once. The sisters working in the library kept a strict eye on them, but there were no rules being broken. They weren’t even being loud.

They paid no attention to whatever else was going on around them. Obviously it had become the two of them against everyone else, but Aziraphale found it more comfortable there. He knew where he stood with Crowley, which was more than he could say about how he’d felt in church his whole life.

It still might have been smart to pay attention, though. On his way back from a restroom trip, Aziraphale suddenly got his shoulder shoved against the wall. His attacker pressed him back and pinned him, and only then could he look up. “Gabriel?”

The taller man was frowning and had a fist raised. “You listen to me and you listen good, I know you’re not in trouble for associating with that freak, but I can’t have this.”

Aziraphale frowned back at him. “Crowley and I are none of your business,” he said. “You don’t have to like him, I never bring him back to the dorms.”

Gabriel shook his head. “People are going to think—if I’m rooming with you—“ He made a face like he’d just sucked on a lemon slice. “I can’t have people thinking I’m a dirty queer like you.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I don’t think anyone would make that mistake about you.”

Gabriel huffed. “They better not!” he said. “If you say or do— _anything_ —I’ll have to teach you a lesson!”

“And what exactly do you think I’m going to _learn_ if you beat me up?” Aziraphale demanded, raising his voice, hoping _anyone_ heard. “Because it’s not going to make me any less gay!”

Gabriel fumed at him. “Maybe we should test that!”

“You fucking won’t!” Crowley said, skidding around the corner, racing to Aziraphale’s side. “And you’re not taking both of us on again, you’re not _that_ stupid.”

Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief.

Gabriel glared at Crowley, but he took a step back from Aziraphale, who ran to Crowley’s side.

Crowley glared. “If you lay a finger on a single beautiful hair on his head, you will rue the day you were born. I will fuck up your face, you’ll lose teeth and I’ll leave scars. He isn’t going to give you the gay, he just wants to finish out the year in peace.”

Aziraphale nodded emphatically. “The only thing we have to do in the same room is sleep.”

Gabriel growled, and then stalked away.

Aziraphale bent, bracing himself on his knees. “...fuck,” he whispered.

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley said, leading the way back to their table. Aziraphale followed, wanting to be back in a more public space.

“Look, I’m sorry—“ Crowley started, as they sat down.

“You’re worth it,” Aziraphale said. “There’s safety in hiding, in lying, I understand, but—it takes a toll, too. Constantly living with secrets, and it’s worse when they’re secrets about yourself.”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah. But—it’s—you don’t have to—“

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I choose to.”

* * *

Aziraphale kept his word. He only ever went to his room to change clothes and sleep. Gabriel tried to switch but there was no spare room and no one volunteered to swap, so they were stuck.

* * *

Despite all the disapproving looks, the side-eyes, the gossip, things were relatively peaceful after that. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had had school friends outside each other, so they’d lost nothing by alienating everyone.

Crowley even came to campus on Sunday, though he resolutely refused to attend Mass with Aziraphale. Aziraphale would have skipped if he could have, but he figured the ice was thin enough as it was. Crowley played on his phone in the foyer through the services, sitting sideways in a plush armchair that was almost certainly an antique.

They managed to survive until Monday afternoon, the end of Aziraphale’s punishment.

No homework got completed Monday evening.

* * *

They got through a couple of weeks quietly. The weather started to warm up a little and Crowley got a little less cranky—though he admitted, one evening, curled up with Aziraphale in his bed, quiet in the afterglow, that it had been the happiest winter he could ever remember.

Aziraphale had hummed happily, tracing Crowley’s silver chain with his fingertips.

Aziraphale had almost begun to believe they were going to make it to the end of the school year, that nothing else was going to go wrong.

Of course it did, on a Sunday.

Aziraphale had long since stopped enjoying contact with his family, but it was still at least routine. Normal. Even an anxiety spike could become familiar, somehow.

He wasn’t expecting their weekly Skype call (taken in the library lobby these days, with earbuds) to open up with screaming, though.

“What on earth do you think you’ve done?!” his mother shrieked.

Aziraphale slammed the down volume button—the feedback was painful—and winced. “Mother?”

“You told everyone you’re queer? You’ve been _flaunting_ it? You told them we _accepted_ that?”

His father harrumphed from just off screen. “Well, we figured on his being gay, but that’s what priesthood was supposed to fix.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I’m not doing that.”

“They said they caught you about to fornicate with your—your—“

“My beau,” Aziraphale said. “ _Who_ said?”

“Sister Michael wrote us an email on behalf of a few of your teachers,” his mother said.

Aziraphale frowned. That backstabbing bitch. She’d gone over the principal’s head to out him, after pretending to be his friend. Thankfully he’d realized better. He looked away from the screen for a moment, and scrubbed a hand through his hair before looking at her again. “Fine. Yes. It’s true. I’m gay. I’m dating someone. But we’re abiding by all the school rules, despite anything else you may have heard.”

“Ought to bring him home,” his father said.

“Pity they banned those therapy places,” his mother muttered.

Aziraphale felt his blood turn to ice. Conversion therapy was still legal in most of America—

“I’m an adult, you couldn’t make me go anyway,” he pointed out. “Had my birthday. I’m an adult.” He tried very hard not to let his voice waver. “I’m cleared to stay until the end of the school year. You can change my ticket but you can’t make me go to the airport and use it.” He took a very deep breath. “Even if you came here yourself. You can’t force me against my will.” The power trip was incredible. They couldn’t make him. It was his life now.

He was legitimately excited for Crowley to have that power, too, Crowley who needed it so much more.

“Aziraphale!” his mother gasped. “We’re worried about your immortal soul—“

“Well I’m not!” Aziraphale slammed his laptop shut.

When he opened it back up that night, just before bed, he just deleted most of the chat messages, unread, though he noticed a few words. _Unholy. Impure. Fornicator._

He didn’t cry. He texted Crowley from under his blanket, and Crowley sent back much kinder words. _Brave. Intelligent. Beautiful._

It took a lot of work, but Aziraphale made the choice to believe him instead.

* * *

There were more messages of course, but Aziraphale held resolute. They told him they were praying for him, and he just said he needed it, to have a chance of passing physics.

* * *

Aziraphale found his future becoming more and more unclear. Living with his parents again was clearly going to be untenable. After three days the constant barrage of abuse just became normal. He flat-out blocked his parents on Skype and he deleted their emails unread, glad that they wouldn’t call his American phone.

He might never see them again.

He tried not to think about it.

He stopped bothering Crowley with it, not sure anymore what was going to happen when he got back to London.

* * *

Somehow they made it to spring break, the third week of March.

Aziraphale wrote a perfunctory email to his parents that he would be staying with a friend, and then resolved not to check his email until it was all over. He was going to enjoy every minute of nine straight (well, not-so-straight) days with Crowley. They’d earned it. They left campus together Friday afternoon and had no one to answer to, no rules, no obligations.

The freedom went right to both their heads.

Aziraphale didn’t worry about being seen when they went out, and Crowley didn’t worry about dressing how he pleased. It was a lot of skirts, which paid off when he got Aziraphale alone.

On Saturday night, after their date, they drove up to the mountain view where Crowley had taken Aziraphale on his birthday, Aziraphale’s smile getting wider with each turn. “We’ve been here,” he said.

Crowley grinned. “Yes. And now we can have a better time than on your birthday,” he pointed out.

Aziraphale whipped around to look at him. “You mean—we— _oh_...”

Crowley stuck his tongue out. “Hell yeah, I mean we could fuck up here.”

Aziraphale looked out the window, down at the view. “What if—“

“What cop is going to be patrolling an unfinished neighborhood? Also we’d hardly be the first couple caught on a lover’s lane, angel,” Crowley said. “We’ll be fine. We don’t have to get completely naked if you’d rather.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “We...”

“Blowjobs, angel,” Crowley said, patiently. “Probably easier anyway, not much room to move. Not like my car back home.”

Aziraphale had heard much about Crowley’s beloved Bentley, and he was excited to see it someday. “I do rather like the sound of that,” he said.

“Here, or there?” Crowley said. “Fuck. Getting hard just imagining having you in the Bentley...”

“Both,” Aziraphale said. “Get in back, then, help me—“

They got into the back rather gracelessly and Aziraphale nudged Crowley back against the door, kissing him the whole way. He slipped his hands up Crowley’s skirt, lifting it, and then he hooked his fingers in the waist of Crowley’s boxers and tugged them down his thighs. What a wonderful thing to just have blanket permission for, for the trust between them to have built up to that. Aziraphale bent and pressed a kiss to the head. “Comfortable?” he murmured.

“Comfortable as I’m liable to get in the backseat,” Crowley said. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous in the moonlight...”

Aziraphale grinned and lifted his head to kiss Crowley’s lips quickly before bending again to take the head of his cock in his mouth. Crowley moaned as Aziraphale sank his mouth around him—he’d started good and only gotten _better_ at it—and Crowley ran his fingers softly through Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale sucked down, tonguing at the slit, and Crowley went slack under him, whatever nervousness he’d had about getting caught just fleeing his mind. It felt too good to think about anything else—and then Aziraphale was playing with his balls, too, and it was all he could do to keep from jackknifing up and choking him. “Angel!”

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, sending a vibration through Crowley’s cock. Crowley tugged at his hair, moaning softly. He tipped his head back, hitting the window glass. His hips bucked up slightly despite his best efforts, but Aziraphale didn’t mind, it was a sign he was doing well.

When Crowley came it was sudden and hard, with a low cry of “Aaaangel—“ Aziraphale went still, and then slowly pulled off.

Crowley sat with his eyes closed for a minute. “Fuck, angel.” He pulled Aziraphale in by his shirt for a dirty kiss.

Aziraphale groaned against his lips, rocking against his thigh. Crowley reached down and palmed him over his trousers, and made deft, single-handed work of getting his fly open. “Got you, angel...”

Aziraphale tipped his head back and Crowley instantly moved to kiss his throat, stroking him over his underwear. “Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Trade places?” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale backed into the other corner, leaning back against the door, while Crowley got his underwear back in place. Crowley, being taller, slipped to his knees on the floor, and hurriedly went about unzipping Aziraphale’s fly and getting his trousers open. Aziraphale groaned as the cool air hit his cock.

Crowley smirked and licked it from base to tip. “Mmm. Angel.” He wrapped his lips around the head and sucked slowly.

Aziraphale’s toes curled. “Oh, Crowley...” he breathed.

“Got you, angel,” Crowley pulled off to assure him. He went down again, taking more of him in, bobbing his head, delighting when it pulled a sharp moan from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gripped at the back of the seat, eyes flicking from Crowley’s face to the twinkling lights below, and then back because of course Crowley with his lips stretched around him was a far more breathtaking sight than any city view ever could be. “So gorgeous,” he murmured, and stroked Crowley’s cheek lovingly. Crowley flicked his eyes up and there was a smile there, even with his mouth occupied.

Crowley slid down further, taking all of Aziraphale in—something Aziraphale hadn’t quite managed yet, but was working on—and Aziraphale moaned, eyes falling shut. The feel of Crowley on him was so incredible, so much more than he’d ever imagined, and all he could think was how grateful he was that he and Crowley had, rather against the odds, crossed paths—that they’d caught each other’s attention, that somehow they’d worked past what could’ve been devastating differences, that here they were now—

Well. A backseat hookup was maybe not the most _romantic_ ending to that train of thought, but Aziraphale still felt blessed.

Crowley swallowed around him, and blocked all of Aziraphale’s ability to think, making him cry out. Crowley grabbed on to his hips, trying almost to pull him deeper.

Aziraphale grabbed clumsily at Crowley’s hair, pulling lightly, hips lifting just a little. Crowley moved in tandem with him, maximizing his strokes, and Aziraphale came hard with a deep cry of his name.

Crowley pulled off carefully and laid his cheek on Aziraphale’s thigh. “Hi, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Hello, darling.”

“Damn, I love when you call me that,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nearly didn’t hear past the third word. It tripped him up all the time—Crowley seemed to love everything about their relationship.

Aziraphale loved _Crowley_. Had for a long time. He could barely remember knowing him and _not_ loving him.

Aziraphale couldn’t tell him. If he didn’t tell him he couldn’t be hurt by not hearing it back.

Maybe someday Crowley would actually say it.

“Darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “My sweet darling, precious snake...”

Crowley chuckled. “Beautiful beau?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. “You should come up here and kiss me, darling.” He started tucking himself away while Crowley got back up on the seat with him, to lay between his legs, back to his chest, to look down at the valley below them.

“It’s beautiful,” Crowley said.

“The view?” Aziraphale asked.

“The moment.”

* * *

video and artwork by [GrimLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLove)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more updates after this =D


	20. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO LOOK AT THIS VIDEO MADE FOR ME BY GRIMLOVE  
> https://youtu.be/_LzRpDIhmOE
> 
> OR YOU CAN CLICK BACK TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER, I'VE ADDED IT AT THE END (which you'll have probably already noticed, if you're binging this fic at a later date, haha)
> 
> THEIR ART IS SO GORGEOUS AND THE SONG IS PERFECT AND I'M IN LOVE
> 
> ...maybe if you watch it you won't hate me so much for this chapter ahah

They stayed out late, just because they could—Hastur didn’t care, there was no curfew. Not much was open late, but they came home with slushes and snacks from a nearby gas station, and stayed up until the wee hours in front of the TV. They went to bed actually tired and only slept—but they had all week, after all.

By Monday, it felt like the new normal, being in charge of themselves, doing as they liked, fearing no judgment—doubly liberating for Aziraphale, who’d spent his life fearing judgment and everything else.

“Could get used to this,” Crowley whispered, Tuesday night, as they were drifting off to sleep—naked this time, after an intense few rounds of sex.

Aziraphale smiled. “What, afterglow?”

Crowley shook his head. “Sharing,” he murmured. “When it’s with someone like you.”

He could share a whole life with Aziraphale, if Aziraphale ever wanted. If April wasn’t looming over everything, if they were free. It was a beautiful week, but it only _felt_ free.

The next night Crowley seemed more affectionate than usual, mouthing kisses over Aziraphale’s skin, wherever he could reach, whispering sweet nothings. He went down on Aziraphale twice before Aziraphale fucked him, and his moans and cries encouraged Aziraphale to really go for it—hard and fast, getting every drop of pleasure that he could.

He just wanted to make Aziraphale happy in the month or so they had left, before he slipped away.

Aziraphale laid on his back afterward. “That was intense,” he murmured.

“Bad?” Crowley asked, settling on his chest, tracing soft patterns along his collarbone.

“Not if you enjoyed it like I did,” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, course not,” Crowley assured him. “I wanted it like that. I’d say I’ll walk funny tomorrow, but...”

Aziraphale laughed. “But you already do.”

Crowley ran an affectionate hand through Aziraphale’s hair. “You know me so well,” he joked, as if that wasn’t the first thing most people learned about him.

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “I’ve been trying,” he said. “I want to know everything about you. Memorize every inch of you.”

“I think you’ve got a pretty good handle on the best parts,” Crowley said. He frowned a little. “I meant that as a sex joke, but honestly that’s probably true about the inside, too. Not—not the sexual inside, the actual—my personality—“

Aziraphale had been fighting a laugh as Crowley rambled, but he put a finger to Crowley’s lips and got a bit somber. “Your heart,” he said. Crowley nodded wordlessly and Aziraphale stroked his cheek. “Dear, I know you have flaws. But everyone does, there’s no need to beat yourself up. You’re a good person.”

Crowley closed his eyes and pressed his face to Aziraphale’s chest. “I’m already naked, don’t double it up,” he groaned.

“I can’t tell my beau what I appreciate about them?” Aziraphale asked.

“Only if it’s things that make me sound cool,” Crowley protested.

“Well, ironic as it sounds, I don’t think there’s anything cool about being cold and heartless,” Aziraphale said. “You can keep it under black leather wraps all you want, I can see why you’d be protective and not want it exposed, but you absolutely have a soft heart, dear.”

Crowley looked down at him with oddly glassy eyes. “I don’t need to protect it from you,” he said, softly.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve tried from the start to treat it delicately.”

Crowley took a deep breath. “No one’s ever done that. No one’s ever thought I was _worth_ that.”

“You are,” Aziraphale said. Not “I think you are,” but simply a statement of fact. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheek. “Crowley...”

Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Crowley, I love you,” he said.

He wasn’t surprised when Crowley froze, startled, and sat up. He’d had no expectations that Crowley would simply say it back. It didn’t matter.

Crowley tugged the sheet around himself. Too naked, too vulnerable—

Aziraphale put a gentle hand on his wrist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I just _do_. You don’t have to—to say it, or—“

“You don’t,” Crowley said, breathlessly. “You—you’re just—twitterpated. Infatuated. It—it’s not—“

Aziraphale sat up with a sigh as Crowley got the sheet around his shoulders. “Crowley. _Dearest_. It is. I’m absolutely in love with you. Besotted, yes, but—not without reason.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley leaned into it—not angry, at least—but Crowley sighed heavily.

“I’m your first,” Crowley pointed out. “You—you have so many more things to experience—“

Aziraphale laughed. “You’re younger than I am, you can’t seriously be playing the ‘old and experienced’ card on me.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s palm. “It hasn’t—we haven’t—“

He wanted it. He wanted Aziraphale to love him, so badly, but he couldn’t accept it, not when they were just under a month away from everything falling apart. He was literally counting the days until he could get away from the whole stupid mess, heartbreak or no.

“It’s just—just a crush, angel—it’s not, like—“

“It is,” Aziraphale said. “I care _very_ deeply for you. It’s love.”

Crowley sighed and shook his head. “Of _course_ we care about each other, angel, but—it—“

“You can’t tell me how _I_ feel, dear,” Aziraphale said. “If—if you don’t feel exactly the same it’s all right. So long as you care about me.”

Crowley took a deep breath. Right. He could work with that. “I do,” he said. “I—I’m not _in love_ —“

Oh, but he was.

But it was going to be so much easier on both of them when he left if he didn’t admit it. He wished Aziraphale hadn’t said anything as it was.

Aziraphale nodded. “It’s all right,” he insisted. “I didn’t expect you to be.” Hoped, but he’d braced himself. He kissed the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “It doesn’t change anything for me. I—I think I was there before we were even together, maybe, I—I can barely remember knowing you and not loving you.”

Crowley looked down. “Can...can you maybe not...”

“Be quite so ardent?” Aziraphale suggested, when Crowley’s words failed him.

Crowley nodded. “It’s...too much.” He glanced up. “Not—not that it’s bad, just—I can’t handle this, angel. I—I feel terrible and—I just—I can’t give you what you want here.”

It could have been a turning point, but it wasn’t. Crowley had other goals, other needs, and he was used to having to fend for himself—fight for himself, going through life by tooth and claw. No one had ever been in his corner and he couldn’t quite trust Aziraphale to side with him in _everything_. Just most things. So he left the four words unsaid.

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Well...”

“Let’s do something else,” Crowley said. “I want to get dressed.”

“Have I ruined it?” Aziraphale asked, anxiously.

Crowley sighed and leaned in to kiss him warmly, though he kept the sheet tight around his shoulders. “No, angel. I don’t want to break up. I’m still in this. Just—let’s break this mood, yeah? Go watch a movie, talk about something else.”

They got up and dressed, and headed downstairs. As they were getting snacks for their movie, Crowley managed to spill soda on himself—not accidentally. He made a big show of being sticky and gross, and excused himself to go shower alone.

He locked the door so he could have a good cry.

* * *

Crowley couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to get in so deep. He should’ve always known Aziraphale could never be just a fling, that of course the choir boy would fall head over heels for him.

Aziraphale hadn’t said that, exactly, but Crowley knew what kind of stories Aziraphale liked. He knew what Aziraphale meant.

Still, after his shower and a movie, things more or less went back to normal. By the next morning he felt like himself again, and Aziraphale was willing enough not to bring it up again.

Still. Sometimes Crowley caught his eyes on him, and he couldn’t deny the depth of the warmth there now—or maybe Aziraphale had always looked at him like that, but now he knew what it _meant_ , and he felt a rush of guilt every time.

Still. It was going to be better. Easier. He’d go home and Aziraphale could deal with his family however he saw fit, on whatever timeline he would be comfortable with.

The week off—nine whole days, every minute together—was heavenly. Both of them yearned for it not to end. What they both wanted was just to live together, to keep it going forever, make their own life with their own rules. Crowley found himself picturing it often, the tiny flat he’d had in his head for years by now, just a starter place—but at some point he’d stopped picturing a studio and started imagining a one-bedroom instead, just enough room for two young lovers starting out...

But of course it would never happen. Not after Aziraphale’s coming from money. The life he and Crowley would be able to afford on their own would never be good enough for him, Crowley was sure. He’d never choose that level of uncertainty.

Going back to school Monday morning was torture. Aziraphale found himself choking back tears on the drive, watching out the window so Crowley wouldn’t ask and make him have to answer with a crack in his voice.

Aziraphale didn’t bring up Crowley’s birthday, either. He knew it was swiftly approaching, and he was trying to plan a surprise, but it wasn’t as easy for him since Crowley was the one with a car. He managed to buy a present and hide it without Crowley noticing, at least.

Aziraphale avoided his room for the most part, not wanting another confrontation with Gabriel. The fuss around his being gay had mostly died down, but he could practically see the loathing rolling off of the stronger boy whenever they crossed paths, as if Aziraphale’s orientation was a personal attack on _him_.

It didn’t matter. Less time in his room was more time with Crowley.

Crowley loved every minute. He couldn’t even fully admit it to himself, but he was only happy when he was with Aziraphale. Any time they had to be apart was a punishment, for both of them.

Aziraphale’s teachers still tried to warn him, but it was difficult when he wouldn’t speak to them one-on-one, and deleted any emails that weren’t directly about classwork.

His parents’ emails were worse. When he finally dared to log in after spring break, there were over twenty, most of them with Scriptures quoted at him. He read as many as he could stomach and couldn’t believe how easily they twisted Christ’s words.

Then he realized they’d been doing that to him his whole life, too.

Still, they weren’t threatening to come after him, just reminding him of the threat to his soul—and finally, he’d reached the point where that wasn’t what he _believed_. He wasn’t _scared_.

Being an adult was _glorious_.

He started researching other religions, when he couldn’t be with Crowley. The Church of England seemed like they might be on to something despite Henry VIII’s shenanigans, and he decided to explore that idea, once school was done and he was home again. Failing that, the Unitarian Universalists seemed happy to welcome any wandering soul that didn’t have it all figured out—they didn’t claim to have the one end-all, be-all truth, and Aziraphale liked the idea of being a group of humans just all stumbling through together instead of trying to boss each other around.

He was worried about what would happen when he got home, but—he was an adult. He had his legal documents. He had a little money saved. It wouldn’t last long but he wasn’t afraid of work—or he never would’ve had the grades to come to America on exchange, after all. If his family wanted to stop his seeing Crowley, he would just _leave_. Figure it out. Crowley was priority number one.

Everything was at a standstill.

* * *

March became April all too quickly.

Crowley started slacking even more when he realized he wouldn’t be there by the time the tests came around on whatever they were studying. He was the only student in the entire school who experienced absolutely no stress about finals. He’d be long gone with weeks to spare before that whole mess.

Aziraphale was the opposite, he spent his time between Crowley dropping him at the dorm and bedtime studying in the lounge, away from Gabriel, but still stressing more and more as time went on.

Crowley was happy to help with stress relief, at least.

Aziraphale was starting to look forward to the end of the school year, to getting back to London, to starting his own life on his terms, even though it was going to be kicked off with a huge confrontation with his parents. It was still more appealing than fearing Gabriel’s wrath—or, more to the point, whatever punishment Gabriel might decide to dole out over it.

Mass became a thing of only going through the motions for Aziraphale. He texted Crowley during the service when he could get away with it. The ritual and pomp read false to him, the way it always had to Crowley, apparently. He felt like he’d seen behind the curtain.

There was a lot of upheaval happening in Aziraphale, but it didn’t show on the outside. He still followed the rules at school, still studied hard, still loved Crowley quietly—but with all his heart.

It was easy to think it would just be a matter of floating along until the end of the year, but of course around the last bend there were rapids.

Three weeks until the last day of school. A Friday. It seemed normal, at first, but as he scurried from the dorms to the dining hall, Aziraphale saw a crowd gathering around the front of the school, and diverted to see what was going on.

Scrawled on the front wall was all sorts of nasty, rebellious graffiti—crude pentagrams, crude penises, a few crude words. The only thing that Aziraphale thought _wouldn’t_ be offensive to someone—were it scrawled on paper, and not a building—was a snake in the corner.

His heart sank. He immediately took a photo and texted it to Crowley. [You didn’t do this, did you?]

Crowley had been having a rather nice morning to that point. He’d gotten up early enough to cook French toast (something Aziraphale did better, but he was working on), and he’d had a good shower (he’d wanked), and it was nearly the weekend. He stared at the photo for a long time before replying.

[Of course not. I’m almost free.]

Aziraphale winced at the reply, at the reminder that it was Crowley’s birthday on Monday. [Sorry, just, I saw the snake...]

Crowley nearly wanted to throw his phone. Of course. All his fault. He could never catch a break, not from anyone, not even his boyfriend. [Wasn’t me. Anyone could draw that. I’ve been home. Obviously.] He huffed a little as he kept typing. [If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t be so stupid as to sign my work. And if I did do something I wanted to sign, I would’ve used my tattoo sigil, not that stupid thing.] The snake painted on the wall was in a rather crudely-drawn coil, a bit reminiscent of the poop emoji with a head on it.

[Right. I’ll see you at assembly?]

[Right.]

Crowley was in a foul mood as he headed into the chapel, knowing there was probably going to be a bit of a fight with Aziraphale—not that they couldn’t work it out, but he didn’t want to have the fight, not when he was so close to leaving. He didn’t want the sour note hanging in the air between them, leaving was going to suck enough in and of itself.

He would’ve preferred the fight with his angel to what happened, though.

Sister Uriel was waiting for him. “Principal’s office.”

He stared at her, flabbergasted. “I’ve been on campus _thirty seconds_ , I barely got out of my car—“

“Enough out of you! Always an excuse!” she snapped. “ _Now_!”

Crowley sighed and went past her to do as he was told, though he was tempted to just turn on his heel and go home. What was the point?

Aziraphale was skittish when Crowley wasn’t there when assembly started. He was a nervous wreck by the time assembly was over. Crowley hadn't replied to any of his fraught texts.

Crowley, meanwhile, was put through an inquisition.

Cans of paint matching the graffiti had been found in his locker, and it didn’t matter that the lock had paint scraped away like someone had broken in. It didn’t matter that Hastur gave him an alibi for the hours it had happened.

Crowley maintained his innocence, and yet again, it didn’t fucking matter.

“Anyone could’ve painted a snake,” he insisted.

Punishment was doled out to him anyway.

By lunchtime Aziraphale was full-on panicking. Crowley wasn’t in any of their usual spots, he hadn’t seen him in the halls or in his classes, and he still wasn’t getting any replies. He headed down to the office. “Where’s Crowley?” he demanded of the secretary.

“Anthony Crowley?” she asked, as if there could ever be another one.

“Yes. My boyfriend!” he said. “Did he show up today?” Aziraphale cursed himself for never getting Hastur’s number.

She cleared her throat. “Anthony Crowley is no longer a student here,” she said. “He was escorted off campus this morning.”

Aziraphale had to brace himself on the counter. “He—he what?” he choked out. “I—I—“ He shook his head and didn’t wait for an answer. “Right. Thank you.” He hurried out of the office, not looking back.

He ran, eyes filling with tears, towards the dorms. He skidded to a halt, though, and hid around the corner of a building when he heard Gabriel bragging to his friends. No good running into him now.

“It was easy!” he was saying. “All I had to do was pop the lock on his locker. They’re not that secure. That’s where I left the paint.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth with both hands, muffling his gasp.

“Putting a snake on it was genius,” one of Gabriel’s flunkies told him.

“I know!” Gabriel agreed. “And now we’re all rid of that perverted sinner once and for all.”

Aziraphale winced. Crowley had been framed. He could run and tattle, but what was the point? They always believed Gabriel. It would be his word against the word of the older, charismatic asshole. And didn’t Gabriel always get his way? Hadn’t he gotten away with physically assaulting Crowley in sight of a teacher?

No matter what Aziraphale did, there would be no justice for Crowley.

...well. Maybe there was one thing he could do.

No more hiding.

Aziraphale ran from around the corner, bellowing at the top of his lungs, and he made a beeline for Gabriel. None of his crowd had time to react before Aziraphale had punched Gabriel square in the gut.

Gabriel hit his knees, doubling over. “B-bastard—“ he wheezed out.

“Just enough of one to serve you right!” Aziraphale said, quickly backing away. 

“Get him—“ Gabriel rasped at his friends, but Aziraphale bolted in the opposite direction, towards the school, towards people, towards witnesses and teachers who might hate Crowley but would sympathize with him, hopefully.

He got away, blending into the crowd at a class change.

He didn’t go back to class. He called for a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week we'll be wrapping up! I can't believe it!
> 
> There will be two posts, because the final chapter is shorter, and combined with the epilogue, the pair are roughly the length of the other chapters. Not much point in making you wait for the epilogue separately.
> 
> Be kind in the comments, it's not over.


	21. Terminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Crowley went.

Crowley had a long, long wait ahead of him. He’d ditched his phone, he wouldn’t need the American phone where he was going—but it was a bit of a mistake, he could’ve at least played games on it if he’d had it with him.

He stretched out on the uncomfortable chair, leaning back to rub at his eyes, using his suitcase as a footrest. His flight wasn’t until the evening and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but he was safe here. The administration wasn’t going to come after him, much less his bullies. He hated being alone, but this was his life now. He’d have to take care of himself, he was sure his parents weren’t going to be happy to see him, much less let him stay with them.

He was sorry he hadn’t been able to say a proper goodbye to Aziraphale. He’d have to Skype him when he landed, when he could manage it.

Right now he’d be too prone to cry, too soon, too raw, not enough time to collect himself, and he couldn’t well go breaking down in an airport lounge.

He couldn’t believe it was all over, even though he’d been planning it for months. Sure, it was a little earlier than he’d planned, but it was all going to turn out the same.

He groaned and lifted his head and started looking around at the people. He had nothing better to do, after all, until he was hungry enough to go find lunch.

He realized people-watching was a bad idea when he spotted a platinum blond making his way through the crowd. His heart skipped a beat, as if there was any chance it was Aziraphale.

But then the man got closer to him.

The man broke into a run, making a beeline for Crowley, and Crowley very nearly decided to run away, but then—

“I cannot believe you, Crowley! Were you really just going to run home like that?” Aziraphale asked, hands on his hips. “You weren’t even going to tell me? How did you even get your ticket changed, your birthday isn’t until Monday—“

Crowley bit his lip, sheepishly. “No, it’s today,” he said. “The seventeenth. I, um, told you it was the twentieth. As a joke.” He stood up and came closer to Aziraphale.

“I don’t get it,” Aziraphale said.

“Americans say the month first, so April twentieth is four-twenty...never mind. Not important. I’m sorry, angel, I just—they blamed me for the graffiti, and even you thought—“

“No,” Aziraphale said. “I assumed you _didn’t_ , I just wanted to confirm. Gabriel framed you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I assumed—“

“I overheard him,” Aziraphale said. “He said he planted the paint.” He took a deep breath and grinned. “And then I punched him.”

“You _what_?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Surprised him, got him right in the gut. Went down like a lead balloon.”

Crowley couldn’t help the grin that broke over his face. “You’re amazing. Did you tell—“

Aziraphale threw his hands in the air. “My word against his, what difference would it make?” He sighed. “They were never going to give you a fair shake.”

Crowley shook his head solemnly. “No. I know.”

“So you should go back home,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “No point in staying now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I did _want_ to tell you goodbye...I’m glad you came...” His mind ground to a halt. “But how. They won’t let you back here without a ticket.” It was only then that Crowley realized that Aziraphale had been dragging his suitcase, now neatly parked behind him.

“They won’t,” Aziraphale agreed, patiently. “So I changed my ticket.”

“Just to see me?” Crowley asked, the gears starting back up, but turning too slowly.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s go home, love.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Angel, we can go to London but there’s no _home_ , really—“

“I have a little saved,” Aziraphale said. “Put us up in a hotel for a few days, while we find a flat, and jobs...”

Crowley stared for a long moment. “But—your parents—“

“Screw them, I want _you_ ,” Aziraphale said. “Do you not understand, Crowley? I dropped out. Packed up everything I own. Called my parents and told them I’m not coming home, not interested in their contact or money anymore unless they’re going to respect me. All on the chance that you’d want to set off on our own. You and me. Us against the world.” He took a deep breath. “Oh God, please don’t tell me I got this all wrong—“

Crowley was crying by the time Aziraphale got to the end of the speech. “You...chose _me_?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I will, every time.”

Crowley lunged and hugged him tightly, burying his face against his neck, tears soaking into Aziraphale’s sweater. “I love you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale gasped and hugged back all the tighter. “You—“

“Have for months, but—I never thought you’d do it...” Crowley pulled back to put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, to search his eyes. “ _No one_ has ever said ‘fuck it all, Crowley’s what’s important,’” he tried to explain. “And you—you know it’s going to be hard, working and keeping us afloat? It—it’s not going to be like with your folks, with money—“

Aziraphale cupped his face in both hands. “Yes. Fuck it all, Crowley’s what’s important,” he drawled.

Crowley moved in and kissed him, pressing to him, feeling more love than he’d ever known was possible. Aziraphale had _chosen_ him. Aziraphale had chosen _him_.

Aziraphale grinned when they had to break apart. “I love you so much, Crowley, it’s going to be good—we can take turns with the cooking, and I’ll—I’ll find some bookshop to work in, maybe, and—oh, I bet you’d do beautifully with a florist, or a nursery, we’ll get you more plants!”

“I’ll have the Bentley back,” Crowley added. “We’ll find a flat with parking.”

Aziraphale nodded excitedly. “Your car!” he agreed. “If—if we had to sleep in it for a few days—save the money...”

Crowley smiled. “I’ve never loved you more,” he teased. He tugged Aziraphale closer to his chair, and Aziraphale sat with him. “So how—how did you know?” he asked. “Where I was?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I—I ran away from Gabriel, and I went to your—to Hastur’s house, in a taxi. I thought you’d be there, getting ready to leave Monday, but he said he’d driven you here, of course. And then he drove me, too. Back to school to formally resign and get my things, and then here.” He laughed a little. “It was very awkward.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, me too. He said he was gonna block Mum’s number. Can’t blame him.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I talked to mine while I was packing,” he said. “They’ve decided I’m a disgrace and all.”

“Yeah?” Crowley bit his lip.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I told them I didn’t care, if I was a disgrace then I was a happy disgrace and I wasn’t letting go of the first thing in life that made me happy. Really, truly happy.” He took Crowley’s hand. “You. Freedom. Mostly you.”

Crowley lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I really—I’m still— _me_. And that wasn’t enough—“

Aziraphale put a finger to Crowley’s lips. “It is for me,” he said. “More than I ever dared to dream of. You’re perfect. Well, you’re not—you almost ran away from me, you bastard. But we fit together perfectly. Two halves of a whole.”

Crowley looked down at his black clothes, at Aziraphale’s cream-colored top. “Like the day and the night.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I need you as much as you need me,” he said.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Yeah. I—I won’t do it again. No running. Got each other’s backs.” He smiled. “I just wish I’d seen you clocking Gabriel, I’m sorry I missed that.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I know violence is never the answer, except...well, it was the only justice you were ever going to get.”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t even care about justice anymore, I just wanted my freedom.”

“You have it, love,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You need this.”

“Yeah, well...wait,” Crowley said. “What about school? I mean—uni, how are you going to—“

Aziraphale shook his head. “It can wait,” he said. “We’ll figure the rest out first. People twice our age go to uni. A year is hardly going to matter.”

Crowley leaned in and kissed him again. Aziraphale curled a hand into his hair, thumb caressing his cheek.

Aziraphale pulled back with a laugh and started rummaging in the front pocket of his suitcase. He pulled out a small package, wrapped in glossy black paper. “I—I thought I’d give this to you Monday, but—happy birthday, my love.”

Crowley took it, staring. “Just when I think you’ve surprised me every possible way.” He gingerly tore at the paper, and opened the box curiously. Inside was a pair of silver hair combs. He tilted his head for a moment, until he realized what he was looking at. “Oh, angel—these are for long hair, you know that, right?”

“I know, I picked them out for you last week,” Aziraphale said. “You’re still planning to grow it out now, right?”

“Yeah.” Crowley ran a fingertip along the ivy pattern, smiling. “I love them, thank— _wait_. Last week?” he asked. “You got me a present you were never going to see me wearing?”

Aziraphale frowned. “What do you mean, never see? I know it’ll take a long time to grow your hair but—not—that’s not never.”

Crowley looked over at him. “But you knew I was leaving.”

“Yes...?” Aziraphale said.

“You were going to stay,” Crowley said, slowly. “Finish the school year.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “I was sort of hoping you’d stay and finish, too, just to stay with me, but I see now that really, that was untenable. But even if I wasn’t coming with you today, I—I would’ve been in London next month...?”

Crowley blinked. “So...so you thought...”

“Did you think we couldn’t do long distance for a month?” Aziraphale asked. “That I would want to break up with you?”

Crowley couldn’t quite get his mouth to move right. “You—”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “You thought it would be over.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “But you—you already—you picked these out a week ago. Before—before today, and—and all the _shit_ —”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, love.” He waited while it sank in.

Crowley breathed deeply. “Angel.” He smiled. “You—you really love me. You really, really love me.” Aziraphale had always been planning to follow him. He’d already defied his parents, and Crowley had known, but Crowley had thought he’d go back to them, patch things up. “You didn’t just—decide this today, you—you already...”

“Yes, darling,” Aziraphale said, smiling softly. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. I’d go anywhere with you.”

“You did,” Crowley agreed. “And I didn’t believe you, but...”

Aziraphale just smiled at him, watching Crowley process with faint amusement.

“You really...”

“I just love you, dear,” Aziraphale said. “And I don’t want to be apart from you. I want us to share a life. Spring break was perfect, I want more of that.”

Crowley felt warm down to his very core. He’d thought the very same thing. “We...are on exactly the same page,” he said. “I love you, angel. I do. Let’s do this. You and me, like you said, us against the world—on our own side.”

Aziraphale sat up straighter. “Oh! Oh, exactly!”

Crowley leaned in for another kiss, the last of his worries melted away.

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheek, and held him close. “We’ll have our own bed,” he pointed out. “Sleep together every night. Wake up every morning, together.”

Crowley snorted. “Not every morning. I’ll sleep past noon on my days off.”

Aziraphale laughed. “And you’ll have plants, and I’ll have books...”

“Speaking of plants!” Crowley turned to the seat on the other side of him and picked up the tiny succulent Aziraphale had gifted him so long ago. “I’ll have to carry it, I couldn’t put it in my suitcase, of course.”

“That’s all right, we—” Aziraphale tilted his head, as it caught the light. “We—” He frowned and leaned in closer, for a better look.

Crowley frowned in return. “Angel? Does it have a spot? I swear to—”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, but you can probably put it in your suitcase, dear.”

“What?” Crowley squinted at the plant. “What are you on about?”

“It’s plastic,” Aziraphale said. “There’s a model number on the stem.”

Crowley turned the plant around. “I—I’ll be damned!” He turned the whole thing upside-down and nothing fell out. He flipped it back up and touched the dirt. “It—it’s fluff—” He touched the plant. “But I was watering it!”

Aziraphale started to laugh. “And it’s flourished!” he said, clutching his stomach.

“It was fake the whole time?!” Crowley sputtered. “I—I—I misted it every day, it—how—”

Aziraphale was still laughing. “I’m sorry, I had no idea either!”

Crowley huffed a little and unzipped his bag to stuff it inside. “Of all the nerve. _Fake_.”

“You don’t have to keep it,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll get you a new plant in London. A real plant. From a florist.”

Crowley shook his head. “It was the first present you ever got me, I’m keeping it forever, angel,” he said. “It means something.”

Aziraphale laughed. “All right, I won’t argue that. It did. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“You make me happy, angel,” Crowley said. “Now, what do you say we go find some low-quality, overpriced airport food for lunch?” he suggested.

“I think that sounds perfectly lovely,” Aziraphale said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue is going up right after this, stay tuned!


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Crowley loved the sofa in the flat. He’d been very particular when they’d chosen it, even though it was secondhand—long enough that he could stretch out without his feet hanging off the end, in a tasteful solid color (no florals!), and comfortable enough for naps. He took a lot of them, when he was home and Aziraphale was still at work.

Like today. He’d finished his shift at the coffee shop and was curled up on his stomach, snoozing to pass the time, until he felt like getting on his feet again, until his angel was home. He barely heard Aziraphale coming in, and didn’t stir until Aziraphale was leaning over him to press a kiss to his hair—finally long again, curling around his chin. “Angel?” he mumbled.

“I got in,” Aziraphale told him, grinning.

Crowley blinked up at him in confusion, and then his eyes went wide. “You got in?” he asked, delighted, and sat up, making room for Aziraphale to sit with him.

Aziraphale sat and pressed warmly to his side. “I got in,” he said. “They offered me a room in the dorms but of course I said no. I start this fall, with everyone else. And I got all the classes I wanted. And a stipend, so I can cut back a bit at the bookshop.” Not that Aziraphale hated his job, far from it, but he’d need time for his studies and assignments once university started.

“You’re a genius, angel!” Crowley said, hugging him tightly. “I knew you’d pull it off. First choice school, everything you wanted, you’ll be a professor yourself in no time. Easy peasy.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Well—they did question one thing,” he said.

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, frowning a bit.

“They wanted to know why I didn’t finish at St. Bernadette’s,” Aziraphale said. “Of course it didn’t matter, I passed the entrance exam, they were just curious why my grades had been so high and then I suddenly chose to drop out when I was so close to finishing, why I was out for a year.”

“What’d you tell them?”

Aziraphale sighed happily, leaning in to press his forehead to Crowley’s. “That I had a family emergency. That there was someone who needed my care.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You fucking sap.” And then he kissed him to celebrate.

* * *

art by [GrimLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLove)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of January seemed like forever away when I started posting this, wow. Thank you to everyone who came along for the ride, or who binged halfway through and has been following since. Now please go tell all your friends who are scared of WIPs that it's done <3


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